


The Last Beard

by kevintomlinson28



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Album: Fine Line (Harry Styles), Album: Harry Styles (Harry Styles), Album: Walls (Louis Tomlinson), Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Beards (Relationships), Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Coming Out, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, Long-Haired Harry Styles, M/M, Music, One Direction Hiatus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26293984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kevintomlinson28/pseuds/kevintomlinson28
Summary: Harry bumbles through the yellow doors to the Beachwood Cafe which boasts the best tea and scones that he has been able to find outside of London. His sunglasses and ball cap that has shielded his face long and well enough to make it here in peace get taken off in the process. He’s thankful that when he walks through the doors, he seems to be a regular person. The cashiers know him well enough at this point to not seem starstruck when he walks through the doors anymore, which was very helpful for him. He wasn’t fond of repeating his order more than three times in a row.(2016 AU: Harry and Louis are broken up after 1D, and Harry has a beard... but will fate have something different in store?)
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles/Original Female Character(s), Louis Tomlinson/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to TPWKCherry and Jen_and_juice for being the best betas in the world <3 Please enjoy :)
> 
> *This is a work of complete fiction!! None of the things that are claimed to be happening have happened for sure and any connection to real life events are coincidental!! Some other events will be a sort of historical fiction, but again, it is complete fiction that has come from my own head*

# Tristan

Tristan jumps at the incessant buzzing from the phone that was lying much closer to her ear than she remembered putting it the night before. She groans, squinting her eyes open into the absolute atrociously bright light of her phone and sun streaming in the window. She silently reads the name of the caller who has rudely awoken her at nine am on her first day truly off in nearly two months only for knots to form in her stomach. The bed shifts underneath her fluttering legs; sheets twisting as she grabs them in between her toes and pulls upwards. Her bottom lip is raw. Whether that was from the night before or her constant picking at it as she stared at the phone ringing, she isn’t sure. On the fourteenth vibration, her phone silences itself and Tristan breathes a sigh of relief. At least that’s one conversation she can postpone. 

Not for long apparently though because not even two minutes later, the buzzing is back. She makes sure that it isn’t someone that she wants to talk to before she quickly evades the call, deciding that her mental health was more important than whatever news she would hear in that conversation. She slides her finger over the top of the screen and taps the do not disturb button for good measure. She knows she has to deal with it eventually, but she's going to give herself an adequate amount of time to sleep in before she does. 

It's only roughly thirty minutes later when Ryan somehow manages to break through the barrier that the **do not disturb** button gave Tristan. She sighs as she sees the name yet again sizing up her phone. The knots in her stomach-which never truly went away in the first place- were now the first and foremost thing on her mind. This was not a conversation she was ready to have yet, but it seems as though Ryan wasn't going to let her get away with that. 

Tristan lets it go to voicemail again, reading that this is the seventh time he has attempted to phone her in the past two hours. What a dickhead. Blowing up someone's cell at eight am on the first Saturday they've had off is not a way to treat a paying client. She sniffs haughtily at the thought. 

Of course, she knows why he's calling. It's not as if she is completely unaware of the world around her even if it may seem that way to Ryan. Tristan can almost hear in her head the exact conversation that will have to take place soon enough. 

_'Tristan, you got caught. Again.'_

_'They were creeps with cameras. We didn't even see them.'_

_'You shouldn't be going out to places where there is even a slight chance that Cameras will be there'_

_'Well cameras are everywhere these days, so I suppose that's a steep order'_

_'Tristan. We have to pay them off again. This is going to come directly from your fund again. We can't keep covering for you two. This needs to end, or you need to be more careful. Are we understood.'_

_'Absolutely' *click*_

There was no reason for Tristan to be nervous about it. She's seen and done it all before. Today would be no exception. She knows the value her stock has. She knows just how hard it would be to tear her down now. Not impossible of course, but extremely difficult. She lulls herself back into calm with that thought. Instinctively, she reaches out her left arm without looking to confirm whether what she is reaching for is there or not. When her fingers graze only the cold sheets, she decides to look. No one was there anymore, but the body shaped ruffle in the sheets indicates they haven't been gone long. 

Throwing her hands over her eyes and rubbing them further into focus, she flips back around to grab for her phone again. Much as she expected, there was a missed text amidst all of the missed calls. She typed her password in and started reading.  
**Stells: Hey baby, had to go to a meeting and didn't want to wake you :( I'll see you tonight though, yeah? love you xx**

Tristan groans at the thought of Stella not being here for the morning but knows she has enough she has been avoiding to keep herself busy without her. She slowly rolls herself out of the duvet cover, slips her feet into her comfy slippers, and heads for the shower. 

Before she can even make it halfway across the bedroom she has come to think of as home, call number eight from her manager comes through. She doesn't know it's him for certain because her phone is still on the bed, but she can't imagine who else it would be. She stalls for only a moment, trying to size up the well being of her sanity versus Ryan’s. As the phone keeps buzzing and she keeps standing, she finally sighs and makes her decision. She bounds back over to the bed and snaps the phone to her ear while answering.

"I swear to god, Joe, I'm sick of her. She's lucky she's easy money otherwise I would not have put up her bullshit for this long," the sweet sound of her manager Ryan accidentally sings into the receiver. Tristan has learned a thing or two since her early days in the industry. One thing she has learned is that you never actually answer when you answer the phone. You wait until the thought they're having is done before you indicate you're on the line. If you do that, you can catch them saying things about you or that they don't want you to hear, and then you're golden. 

She's been using this trick for years and she has a lot to show for it.

"Hello," Tristan mutters back patiently after listening to Ryan and whoever he is with shit talk her.

"Oh, Tris! Hello! You answered! That's a nice surprise," Ryan enthused acting as if he hadn't called her a cash cow mere moments before.

"Sorry, I was asleep. The rain from last night made me dizzy, so I didn't fall asleep until late," Tristan lulls out waiting impatiently for the reason that his call had come through. She hopes the pleasantries are kept to a minimum, but with Ryan, she can never be sure. 

"Well, how have you been? I feel like I haven't heard from you in ages!" Tristan can hear the fake smile plastered to his face through the phone. 

She sighs quietly, noting in her head that a whole whopping forty-three hours feels like ages to Ryan. Ryan will call you eight times in two hours and say it feels like ages if you don't talk to him. She stores that thought away, making sure to put it alongside other things she wants to remember about Ryan. Like the way his hands grab at his collared shirts when he's getting angry and doesn't want it to show, or the way his voice gets lower in pitch during negotiations because he doesn't feel like he's being taken seriously otherwise.

"I'm well, actually, thank you. Why is it you called?" Tristan lilts out in hopes of finishing the small talk portion of their discussion quickly. She hears a sigh come through the phone and knows she has done just that.

"Well, Trissy," he says while knowing how much Tristan hates that particular nickname, "I have some... news."

"What news?" Tristan sputters out. Another thing she's learned: if it's not great news, it's terrible news. There is no in-between in this industry. 

"Well, some paps saw Stella leaving your apartment building the other day. They're threatening to leak the pictures, of course," he says and Tristan can see him waving the thought away with his manicured hand in her head, "so we're paying them off $5,000 per picture to keep it quiet for you. I know that this isn't exactly easy, but this is the second time in the last two weeks someone has caught you two! I need you to be better about this because we don't want to..." he trails off.

 _'I don't want to tell you that you can't be with your girlfriend of five years, but I will if you make me'_ Tristan finishes for him in her head. She's heard it all before, but at least Ryan is one of the nicer ones who won't say he's going to closet her to her face. Just behind her back.

"Sorry. We should be more careful," Tristan says numbly. 

In truth, Tristan doesn't actually feel that way. She hopes the paparazzi do leak the pictures. She hopes Ryan finds her in breach of her contract and takes all of her money and stardom in the legal fees. She would do anything to be free of this. 

But she also knows she doesn't really feel that way either. 

"I know you will, Sweetie! But that isn't actually the point of the call. The label seems to think -and these are their words, not mine- that you're being a bit of a 'loose cannon' these days. I don't personally think so, but I can only do so much as far as these things go..." Ryan races through his monologue too fast. He would be a terrible actor, Tristan thinks idly.

"You're giving me another beard, aren't you?" Tristan says effectively cutting off his ramble. A brief pause comes through the line.

"Yes."

"Great," Tristan groans both internally and out loud. "Who is he?"

"Well we still have a few options for the narrative we're trying to build, but you don't need to worry your pretty little head about that! Just leave it up to the experts, and we'll let you know as soon as we know! I just wanted to give you a warning that this is coming because I think of you as a friend," Ryan lies. 

_'A friend you say you only put up with because she's a cash grab_ ' is what Tristan wants to say, but that's just LA isn't it? She sighs instead, thanks Ryan for calling, and hangs up the phone. 

She knows she should call Stella and tell her the news, but she can't. Not yet. She doesn't want Stella to be mad all day while she's busy doing photo shoots. Instead, she texts her back. 

**“Of course you will Stells, wouldn't miss a night with you for the world <3 miss you already, text me pics of your crazy hair and makeup. love you bunches, forever.”**

She shoves her phone back on the bed suddenly feeling the weight of the world on her spine again. Not knowing how she manages to trudge towards the bathroom and throw on the water. Sinking out of her bathrobe and slippers, she steps into the shower while the water heats up around her. A ball of curly blonde hair sits on the wall beside her which would normally make her want to scream at Stella to come get it off her nice, clean shower. But today, it makes her want to cry. 

Having a beard means a lot fewer nights of Stella sleeping soundly next to her, loose curls strewn haphazardly across the pillow. It means having fewer curly wads of hair in her shower. It means having less time with the only person that is worth spending time within this godforsaken place outsiders call Hollywood and insiders call Hell. Tears silently begin to stream down Tristan's cheeks without her permission.

Tristan hates having a beard. Not that they are always bad company to keep or anything. Most of them are actually fun to be around. The problem is the timing of it all. It's exhausting emotionally and physically. Especially for the ones who refuse to recognize the fact that they are not actually in a relationship with you. 

Tristan laughs through the tears at the memory of her co-star on the TV show that made her famous thinking that they were in a real relationship for almost two months before he caught Tristan "cheating" on him. His face was priceless as his voyeuristic ass watched as Tristan and Stella fingered each other into oblivion at the same time, Tristan biting a series of hickeys into Stellas collarbone area in the shape of a heart. He waited for about two minutes, got hard, and then asked to join in. Tristan swears the only reason he was ever mad was because she turned down the request. He was cool about it once he realized that he should've known the whole time. He thought when they asked him to be a beard for Tristan, they meant that he needed to grow a beard and also date Tristan. Such an idiot. 

The ones that aren't famous are the worst ones, though. Tristan has been through her fair share of those before. They complain as they sit through media training, and then complain when they get hated on by the fans who know everything. The worst by far was a "fan" named Spencer who wanted to be a pop star. He couldn't sing a lick, but autotune can take care of that when someone is as pretty as Spencer is. He would run around, following Tristan like a puppy on a leash in public, but once they were in private he would chastise her ability to convince the public that they were actually together. A nobody telling the youngest Emmy and Academy Award-winning actress of all time Tristan Blair that her acting skills weren't up to par with his, might've been the moment that she truly decided that not liking men went beyond thinking that dicks were weird and gross. 

The thing was that he was right. She didn't care if the public thought it was a PR relationship or not. Why would she? She had nothing to gain from it except for her new nickname of the Hollywood Slut, and a few fans who called them adorable. Puke. 

She wants to be out. She is terrified to be out. She wants the world to know that she and Stella are together. That her dedicated fans have never been wrong in thinking that. But she also knows the realities: people don't like people who are gay. And most importantly: Managers don't like their biggest moneymakers to be gay. 

With a sigh, she decides she will allow herself to cry until she is out of the shower. Then she is going to go back to the emotionless girl everyone seems to know and love. It's all too soon when her hand reaches for the faucet and turns it off meaning that her time for wallowing is over.

She steps gingerly onto the cold tile floor, hardly bothering to dry off yet, and walks to the mirror which has been efficiently steamed. She turns on the defroster that Stella bought for them even after Tristan ranted and raved about not needing such a stupid thing; Stella, of course, replied with a small smile and a comment about how they have nothing else to spend their money on. 

As the mirror begins to defog itself, Tristan begins to stare. Sometimes she truly doesn't recognize herself anymore. It's not as if her appearance has changed much- as if any of her managers would condone her giving up her signature strawberry red hair- but when Tristan looks in the mirror, she sees the little girl she was when this all started. Not the twenty-year-old staring back at her now. With one more wistful glance at the mirror, she leaves the bathroom still dripping wet and completely numb. 

Deciding that her day had gone to shit enough already, Tristan decides to scroll through her social media. She normally despises social media on her main account due to the near-constant stream of degradation she receives from god-who-gives-a-shit troll accounts, but today seemed like as good a day as any to be a sadist. Just as expected, her mentions are flooded with people telling her she’s a whore. If Tristan could wish, for one thing, it would be for them to get a better insult. With a sigh, she switches her account back to her best hidden secret gem. 

She was warned by many people to never, ever enter the world of stan twitter, but Tristan wasn’t one to listen to warnings. She’s had her personal stan account for nearly a year now, and it was honestly the most fun she had on the internet on a daily basis. She would scroll through the timeline of people theorizing about her hints of her and Stella’s relationship, astounded that even the most subliminal of messages got picked up on. She loves it much more than she will ever care to admit.

She tries to only follow people that support her and Stella on her stan account, so when she logs in today, she is confused by the news. The flashing headline that every single one of her followers seems to be posting about: **Tristan Blair has a New Boyfriend?** Tristan huffs her cheeks out, not ready to read whatever clickbait, tabloid shit that’s out about her today, but she clicks on anyway. Her eyes widen in shock when the URL is not _TMZ_ , but _The Sun_. And the actual headline, she sees, is much more descriptive than the clickbait one lead on. 

**Source confirms Academy Award-winning Tristan Blair’s new relationship with Ex-One Direction star Harry Styles.**

“Well,” Tristan sighs out shakily to the empty room, “I guess they found their narrative.”

# Harry

Harry bumbles through the yellow doors to the Beachwood Cafe which boasts the best tea and scones that he has been able to find outside of London. His sunglasses and ball cap that has shielded his face long and well enough to make it here in peace get taken off in the process. He’s thankful that when he walks through the doors, he seems to be a regular person. The cashiers know him well enough at this point to not seem starstruck when he walks through the doors anymore, which was very helpful for him. He wasn’t fond of repeating his order more than three times in a row. 

Harry didn’t mind being famous per se. There were a lot of things that came with it that he didn’t enjoy, but at the end of the day, he didn’t mind it completely. He knows that if he had never gone on X-Factor, never would’ve been in One Direction, he wouldn’t be nearly the person he is today. He would likely be some stuffy twenty-three year old at Uni for law, hating every single second of it. Now he has more money than he knows what to do with. Much more than he ever would have, had he become a lawyer, or a baker, or even a doctor. Not that money really matters to Harry, but it definitely wasn’t one of the downsides that came along with fame. 

“Oh my God, that’s Harry Styles,” Harry hears softly from the corner of the small room, feeling a camera aimed at the back of his head. This, unfortunately, was one of the downsides. He tries his best to ignore them until after he has his tea. Usually, he’ll just wave or wait for them to come up to him, but he was feeling confident today so whoever they are might get lucky. 

“Hey H, what can I get for you today? The usual?” the Barista with the kind smile and brown hair whose name he can’t place asks cheerfully. Harry smiles at the warmth emitting from her face. 

“Yes, please. Thanks.” he mumbles, pulling his black card from his wallet, keeping his head down. He smiles up at her while she takes his card and swipes it for him. “How are you today?” he asks gently.

“I’m doing well. Just got here actually! Also, I don’t know if you know this, but there is a group of girls taking pictures of you in the back corner,” she says with worry in her voice. Harry knows he must acknowledge them now, so he turns to where he knows they are and looks. They all look down flustered, giggling into their muffins. Harry turns back around to the cashier.

“S’alright, just another day,” he sighs cheerfully, laughing a little bit. The barista- who he finally remembers is called Kara- looks at him sheepishly before going to work on his tea. He tips her generously before pulling out his phone and going to sit at the bar to wait. 

His lips pucker into a sad grimace when the only notifications are a missed call from his new manager Jeff and two texts from Kendall. He rubs his brows, subconsciously trying to wipe away the disappointment of a certain name not popping up on his phone anymore. It wasn’t as if he was expecting a text or call, but he truly couldn’t help hoping every time he pulled his phone out that there would be one. It feels ridiculous, but it felt as though his phone even missed the texts and calls at this point.

It could say anything, honestly. It didn’t need to be an apology. It could just say “Hi” and Harry’s heart would explode. Hell, it could say “jkbfbwrfbir” and clearly be an accident, and Harry was still sure that he would suddenly feel that everything was right again. 

But it wasn’t.

And the texts never came.

Harry sighed again but perked up at the sound of Kara calling his name to tell him that his tea was ready. He smiled kindly at her as he grabbed it before walking towards the door. Lost in a rabbit hole of thoughts that were dangerous to his mental health, he’s a little shell shocked when he hears someone from right next to him ask him if it’s okay to take a picture and that they’re a huge fan. He says yes without even knowing how the word came out of his mouth. 

After smiling in the pictures and giving the necessary amount of hugs, Harry makes his way to his Range Rover and calls Jeff back before putting the car in reverse. Harry likes Jeff as much as anyone can like a manager. He was nice enough. Much nicer than his other managers had been in the past. Jeff was interesting and eclectic, but never overbearing. He wanted to help Harry become more of himself to the public, even if it wasn’t always in the way that Harry wanted it to be. The phone only rings twice before Jeff is speaking brightly into the receiver.

“Harry! You caught me at a perfect time, I’ve just gotten back to the office!” 

“I saw that you had called so I thought I better call ya back! What’s up, mate? How are you?” Harry responds cheerfully.

“I’m doing well, son. Had a really great lunch over at this place downtown. Great tiramisu, you’ll have to try it one of these days! But that doesn’t matter, anyway, how are you? You alright?” Jeff speaks quickly and excitedly which makes Harry chuckle lowly in the empty car. 

“I’m alright, just fetched a cuppa, and now I’m on my way back home.” Harry said, suddenly feeling lonely. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go back home to an empty house yet. 

“Well then perfect, you’re not busy! I called you earlier because I had an interesting proposition earlier today, and I wanted to let you know about it. Now, before you say anything, it’s not finalized or anything like that, but I think it’s a good career move, so hear me out,” Jeff says carefully. Harry holds his breath, not knowing where this conversation was going to take him. He was sure that he wasn’t going to like it either way. “I got a call from an old friend of mine, Ryan Hansen. He’s Tristan Blair’s manager if you know who that is. Anyway, he’s wanting to further Tristan into the music industry because apparently movies aren’t enough for her anymore.” He pauses for a laugh. “And you want to get into acting. So we struck up a conversation about you two in a relationship. We both think it’s a great idea, but we would need to see the chemistry between you two before we went for anything really official so I wanted to see if you would be willing to come down to the office in about two hours?” 

“Uh… Yeah... I mean… Sure, I guess… I guess I could come down… I mean… what is she… is she like… um, nice?” Harry breathes out slowly, his head spiraling a mile a minute. He hadn’t had a true beard that he didn’t know in years. Jeff had also said that he wanted to give Harry the bisexual angle, but he wasn’t sure how this was going to help that. 

“Yes, she’s um… well she’s… she’s a bit of a ‘loose cannon’ from what her manager says about her, but she seems like a very lovely girl. Very lovely, indeed.” Jeff breathes out softly. 

“I… Okay… Wha-um-what time should I, like, come in?” Harry draws out slowly like molasses on a cold night. He has a habit of wording things slowly in order to make sure he doesn’t say anything wrong. He trusts Jeff as much as you could trust someone you just met six months prior, but he doesn’t want to give too much away just yet. Five years of stardom will do that to you.

“Well, Ryan convinced her to come around half three if that works for you as well? You two should have a proper meeting afterward as well, but that’s just my advice.” Jeff says, caution seeping into his normally upbeat tone. Harry’s eyebrows pull together at the change, realizing that Jeff’s advice is more likely something he will be doing rather than something he has an option about. 

“Yeah, okay, mate. I’ll be there. Thanks for the call,” Harry says hoping to end the conversation at that. 

“Alright! See you then!” Harry goes to end the call, his head already laying placently on the steering wheel, when he hears Jeff scream his name into the receiver.

“Sorry, what was that?” Harry asks politely, perking his head up as though Jeff was in the car with him. 

“One more thing I forgot to add, um, don’t tell her about the uh… You know the whole um…” Jeff fumbles his words, but Harry knows already what he is trying to say.

“The whole ‘not being straight thing’?” he offers kindly to Jeff with his lips set in a hard line. 

“Yeah… yeah… Not that I’m not completely fine with it! You know I am! But, um, this is just going to be regarded as a ‘PR’ thing of sorts, not a bearding, to her. And the fewer people that know about you right now, the better! Not that you’ll never get to come out or anything, that’s not what I mean at all. Just that- that now isn’t the…” Jeff gets cut off.

“ -the best time. Yeah, I understand. I won’t say anything to her, I promise.” Harry says just before exchanging final pleasantries and finally ending the call, his jaw locked tightly in place. _Now is never the best time_ he thinks painfully to himself just before his forehead connects with the steering wheel in front of him again. He allows himself a moment to wallow, a moment to think of _him_ before he is thrusting his car into reverse and speeding away from the parking lot. 

Harry passes through the neighborhood with ease, relying on sheer muscle memory. He speeds down the streets far too fast for what the legal limit allows for, but he doesn’t find it in himself to care much. He’s so far in his head that he almost misses the gap in the music that is being caused by a call. He reaches down in his lap for his phone, hoping it’s Jeff calling again to say _Just messing! Gotcha!,_ but he knows that’s just wishful thinking. He doesn’t even allow himself to wish for the other person he’s thinking of.

When he sees Kendall’s name popping up on his screen, he answers immediately. Kendall hates phone calls, so he knows it must be important enough to her that he can’t miss it. 

“Hello,” he says slowly, concern coloring his tone. 

“Were you going to tell me they got you another beard, or what? You could’ve just used me again, like, you know how much I love our escapades in Antigua,” Kendall laughed out, the slightest hint of jealousy disguised in her soft speech. 

“What are you on about, angel? I literally just got asked by Jeff to meet someone not even fifteen minutes ago. I don’t have a beard yet. You know you are the first on my list of beards always, baby,” Harry flirts out, knowing that Kendall will let him have his cheeky fun with her. 

“Don’t baby me, Harry Styles! There is, like, a whole article about it from The Sun. I am literally looking at it with my eyes right now.”

“What?” Harry asks, confused.

“I sent it to you already. Seriously, do you ever check your phone?” she laughs, but it’s a heavy one. Harry knows it’s because she can sense his confusion even from over the phone. “Did you actually not get, like, told about this? Like before it came out?”

“No, I-I didn’t. Hang on, I’m, uh, pulling into my drive right now. I can’t read it yet.” Harry throws his car in park at the tail-end of his driveway looking desperately at the phone for the messages Kendall has sent him. His eyes bulge when he sees the title. **Source confirms Academy Award-winning Tristan Blair’s new relationship with Ex-One Direction star Harry Styles.**

“Are you okay, H? I didn’t, shit, I thought you would have been, like, called about this. God, I feel like shit. I’m so sorry. Do you want me to come over and, like, hangout? Or do you want to be alone? Shit, dude, I’m-” Kendall sputters out guiltily as if it’s her fault Harry is somehow confirmed to be in a relationship with someone he has never actually met. 

“No, no, Ken it’s okay. It’s not your fault. I- I would’ve seen it eventually. Just annoyed, I guess, that I’m now dating someone who I have never met when I could be happily faking another relationship with you, that’s all.” Harry lilts out, the undisguised shock that was seeping in his words making it hard to try and make her feel better. He was glad to have a friend like Kendall, and he didn’t like it when she was upset. Especially over things that were completely out of her control. “How’s Bella by the way?” he asks cheekily while trying to change the subject, his dimple popping out for one of the first times all day.

“Shut up, you dick.” Kendall and Harry laugh together. “Are you okay, though? Like, for real?” she asks again, but this time with more empathy than concern. 

“I just hope he hasn’t seen it yet, I guess.” Harry says, his voice dropping a full octave. His breaths come in shallow as his mind wanders to what he’ll think when he sees Harry is with someone new again. Will he know it’s fake? Will he even care if it’s fake? He closes his eyes tightly, willing the thoughts to go away.

“H… I’m… I’m so sorry.” Kendall says, pity clear in her tone.

“Again, not your fault. And it’s really okay, I’m okay.”

“You promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay, well I have to run because Gigi is about to head over here, but call me if you need anything, okay? Even if you just need to, like, talk, you know I’ll always be here for you. You know I, like, get it,” Kendall musters up, somehow empathetic and sour at the same time. 

“I know, Angel. I know. Thanks.”

“Okay, well I’ll talk to you soon, love you.”

“Love you more, baby.” Harry laughs out somehow.

“Do not start with me, Harold. I gotta go, bye.” Kendall scoffs lightly while laughing.

“Bye,” Harry says as he turns the phone off. He sighs as he unbuckles his seatbelt and heads out to his front door. He makes his way inside the empty house, deciding suddenly that there would be no harm in playing a trashy romantic comedy on the telly while he waits for half three. He strongly debates calling Jeff to ask him exactly when he was planning on telling him it was a done deal with Tristan Blair but decides against it. He knows what Jeff will say already. Something along the lines of: _‘No, no, Harry! Not a done deal. Very easy to say the source was wrong. We just wanted to test the waters with this article! Do not worry!’_ which Harry was very much not in the mood to hear. 

That was truly the downside of this life he had stumbled upon almost exactly six years ago. The way nothing was ever what it seemed. Relationships that he grew up watching turned out to be fake. People he grew up thinking were some of the best people turned out to be dickheads. People were mean to you or made up rumors about you, and you never really got the chance to clear your name. Harry guesses that Jeff isn't much different than most other Hollywood managers. 

He sighs knowingly as he sits down on his couch alone with a beer. He knows it's only just past midday, but he was pretty sure it was a Saturday- it's very hard to keep track of days when you don't have a real job to help you- so he figured it was okay. He picks up the remote, flips his telly to Netflix, takes a long sip on his beer, and searches _Romantic Comedies_. He can’t help but think of the lazy Sundays they used to have to do just this. Lounging on the bed of some random hotel room, in places they couldn't pronounce the name of, throwing random kisses all over each other, and pretending the world outside didn't exist. He doesn't want to allow himself to think about it, but he can't stop.

He looks again at the article on his phone. _‘Sources confirm that Tristan Blair and Harry Styles have started a very private relationship with one another away from the public eye,’_ it reads. _‘They apparently met at a charity event they both attended about a month ago, and have been absolutely smitten with each other ever since,’_ it continued on. His eyes are scanning the page while he’s pleading with himself in his head. _Do not call and explain, do not call and explain, do not call and explain. You don’t owe him anything, he made it perfectly clear he didn’t want to talk to you, do not call him._

He reaches the end of the article where the writer wishes him and Tristan the best of luck and many congratulations. His stomach clenches, and he bites his bottom lip in both frustration and exasperation. “Fuck it,” he sighs to himself in resignation as he searches for his contact name which has ironically been renamed to **Don’t** in his phone. He hits the call button with his stomach in knots and his lip still stuck between his teeth.

One ring passes, then another, and another after that. Eventually, it gets to the point where Harry knows he isn’t going to answer, but he’ll have the missed call, either way, so he might as well stay to hear the voice he’s missed so much the last three months. _“Hi, you’ve reached Louis Tomlinson. Leave your name, number, and order of business, and I’ll try to get back to you as soon I can. Cheers.”_

Harry quickly hangs up the phone before the beep can sound all the way through. Leaving a voicemail to your ex is where sober Harry draws the line. Drunk Harry is a bit of a different story, but he tries very hard not to think about that in the daytime. His shoulders are hunched over in defeat. Not that he didn't know this would be the outcome, but he couldn't help but hope for the better. 

He puts his phone to sleep face down on the couch seat next to him, takes another long drag of his beer, and chooses _Love Actually_ because he really, really wants to cry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again thank you to TPWKCherry and Jen_and_Juice for being the best betas <3\. Hopefully chapters will come out at least twice a week, but I can't make any firm promises :). Again this is all a work of complete fiction! Enjoy!!

# Tristan

Tristan was known as a little bit of a nightmare in the industry. She signed a 360 agreement when she signed on to be one of the leads in _The Upper Ground_ when she was only eight years old. Well, more appropriately, her parents signed it for her, but what can she do when she has gold-digging parents with no talent of their own. That contract ended when she was twelve of course, but again, gold-digging parents and the offer of a ten million dollar resigning bonus with the network meant another 360 for Tris. It had been going that way for the last twelve years of her life, but that didn’t mean she didn’t bite back every once in a while. 

Having your entire public personality decided for you for the entirety of your life wasn’t something Tristan was particularly fond of. Especially because their chosen personality for Tristan was the dumb valley girl actress who couldn’t tell her left from her right, but somehow happened to be a savant when it came to pretending to be someone she wasn’t on a screen. The fact that anyone bought it at all was beyond Tristan, but she supposes that it’s easier to believe the lie than try to look beneath it sometimes. Tristan supposed though that it was a good thing most of the general public saw her as an idiot. It made it much easier for her to drop subtle hints about what is actually going on behind the scenes that way. 

Her newest title, though, was that of the latest ‘Hollywood A-List Slut’ which was a piss-poor attempt from her managers to transform her into a sex symbol. Tristan Blair, the domesticated lesbian in a five-year-long closeted relationship with what tabloids deem “her model bestie gal pal” Stella McClain, the Hollywood Slut. The irony was never lost on Tristan. She supposes it makes sense that they would set her up with Harry Styles considering he might be the biggest womanizer in the western hemisphere. 

Tristan’s head perks up noticeably as the door to the lobby swings open wide and Ryan makes his way over the threshold. Drawn from her thoughts about things she can’t change, she begins to take in Ryan once over. His arms are held out as if he is greeting an old friend he hasn’t seen in years, and his smile is clearly diminished by the botox he must have decided to get over his lunch break. _‘Mental note: Ryan will try and hug you only hours after blindsiding you with a beard article and calling you a cash cow all while he looks like Jack Nicholson in The Shining’_ she thought to herself idly. She is beginning to build a not so small repertoire of things she can use against Ryan in the future when she sees it best fit. She doesn’t even have to try really; he just throws the content right at her. 

“Tristan! My sweet, sweet Tris, how are you?” Ryan says in what can only properly be described as a valley girl accent as he reaches down to cup Tristan’s shoulders. 

“I’m a little confused, I think,” Tristan says with her eyebrow quirked and her emoting the exact opposite emotion of Ryan’s. 

“Ah, yes, I guess you’ve seen the article. Well, we saw the benefits and wanted to see the clicks. It’s mainly a test run anyway- here come with me, we just got a cookie delivery!” He continues as if nothing is wrong with the situation at hand, grabbing her shoulders and ushering her back through the door he just came from. Tristan supposes that from his perspective, nothing is wrong. From Tristan’s perspective, though, she had to explain to a crying girlfriend why an article announced a beard she didn’t know Tristan was getting. So basically, Tristan was a little less than thrilled. 

“I did see the article. I got it sent to me by Stella who informed me of its existence which is rather strange considering I feel like she should not have been the one to explain it to me.” Tristan said forcefully through a gritted smile.

“Yes well, that’s rather here nor there. Want one?” Ryan said with a wave of his hand and an offering of a chocolate chip cookie.

“I’m not a fan of chocolate,” Tristan mumbled straight-faced.

“Right, right. Yes, you’re the fruit person. That’s my mistake.” Ryan muttered flippantly with a hint of superiority behind it. 

“So what am I doing here exactly? Does this meeting even matter considering the world thinks he is my boyfriend either way?” Tristan bolstered out with her jaw setting in place once her mouth was closed. Ryan looked at her expectantly, like she was a child misbehaving in a grocery store. 

“Trissy, I need you to be nice, okay? Contrary to what you might think, I’m here to help you! I really care about you and your success,” _‘because your success is my paycheck’_ Tristan finishes bitterly in her head. Her eyes remain icy as she stares down Ryan. She should soften them, play along with the roll she had gotten so used to playing, but she didn't want to. She was close enough to the finish line of this whole charade that she didn't care who found out what at this point. 

“And he has no idea I’m gay or dating Stella?” she asks, completely ignoring his prior sentimentality. 

“Nope,” he eyes Tristan cautiously.

“And I’m not supposed to tell him anything about it?” 

“No, telling people would be outside of your contract at this point.”

“Couldn't he just sign a nondisclosure and be fine?” she snaps. “That’s what everyone else has done.”

“No this is different because we have some other… um… plans? It is pertinent that he doesn't know you are in the LGBT community.”

“Q+”

“What?” he asks, ironically scratching at his beard.

“You forgot the Q+,” his head tilts in confusion which only adds to the sudden annoyance she feels in her blood. “It’s LGBTQ+. Not LGBT. If you’re going to closet someone, you should at least know the proper terms,” she says as she turns towards the chair on the opposite side of the room.

The office was nice. From the outside, you wouldn't know that a series of hell escaped demons roamed these halls. The back window was completely glass with a wonderful view of the LA traffic below. The carpet was green, but not in an ugly way. More like the soft way of a Christmas Tree. And the walls were tiled with marble accents, giving it somehow a modern edge. Tristan mentally starts taking notes for her and Stella’s new apartment they plan on buying in Manhattan. 

She turns back around to face Ryan, annoyance plain on both of their faces, just before taking her seat in the deliberately uncomfortable chair. Ryan hangs his head down in defeat which would normally make Tristan smile, but not this time. She holds her poker face while she grabs her phone and waits for this whole thing to be over. Her eyes are drawn towards the door when she hears booming deep voices littered with British accents coming from just beyond it. Ryan eyes her harshly which she returns with an eye roll and a face scrunch. He closes his eyes in frustration before plastering on a fake smile just as the knock on the door echoes throughout the office. _Maybe he wouldn't be the worst actor ever_ Tristan notes to herself.

“Come in, come in!” Ryan yells excitedly as the door swings wide and in steps the two people they've been waiting for. Jeff comes in first with Harry following closely behind him. “Jeff, my friend, it is _so_ good to see you! How long has it been?” _‘What a kiss up’_ Tristan thinks to herself, her eyes rolling without her permission.

“Almost a year, I think? That can't be right! Feels like just yesterday!” Jeff replies with his arms open for a hug. Tristan watches the exchange through squinted eyes from her corner of the office, thankful that no one seems to see the way her mouth is twisted up in distaste. She smoothes out her features considerably once the embrace is over.

“It does! It literally feels like yesterday!” Ryan says with his laugh booming around everyone. “Oh, and you must be _the_ Harry Styles! So good to finally meet you!” Ryan says while rushing over to shake Harry’s hand. A dimpled smile makes its way onto Harry’s face which makes him look far less intimidating and far more fluffy bunny-like than he had moments before. 

“You as well, Mr. Hansen,” Harry mumbles out slowly, putting emphasis on every letter of every word before it flows out of his mouth. 

“No please, call me Ryan!” Ryan says, looking almost starstruck, which brings the disgusted twist back to settle in Tristan’s features.

“Alright… so uh, is she- is Tristan- uh…” Harry stutters out. _‘He’s shy’ Tristan adds the first thing to her new, but very necessary, Harry vault in her head. ‘He’s one of the most famous people in the world, but he finds it hard to have a simple conversation without being awkward’._ After storing that away, she figures now is as good a time as any to speak up.

“Yes, she’s here, if that's what you were asking,” Tristan says in her interview voice. “Hi, I’m Tristan! It’s nice to meet you both. Especially you, Harry, considering we’re dating and all,” Tristan lilts out with a sickly sweet smile on her face. Harry’s dimples shoot out again at the comment, and a laugh comes from somewhere deep inside him. He reaches for her hand which Tristan takes kindly. 

“Yeah, S’pose we are. Hi, I’m Harry.” Tristan notices that his speech can be described as melting butter because it’s slow, but not painfully so. And it has an effect of staying in your ears even long after his mouth has shut and no words are coming out anymore. She locks that away in her vault. 

“I’m aware. You’re very famous, I don't know if you know that,” Tristan says with a cheeky grin sneaking onto her face. Harry’s eyes suddenly flash away and the dimple is gone. The only way Tristan can truly describe it is that he looks sad. She’s not sure whether it was the cheekiness of her reply or the fact that she insisted he was very famous that caused the change, but she wants to find out. 

“Anyway! So I figure after we go over some of the details, sign some paperwork, you know _legalities_ ,” Ryan scoffs out to Tristan and Harry from across the room, “you two could go possibly eat somewhere together! I think you both know how these things go at this point, so unless you need a refresher on what to do, I think we can just set you free!” Tristan quietly breathes out a short laugh at the irony of the statement but controls herself quickly. She doesn't want to seem like a bitch to Harry or Jeff when she doesn't have anything to hold over their heads yet. Harry flashes a inquisitive glance in her direction, but in the end, he doesn't seem to question her.

“We already have the paps on standby for wherever you two choose to go, but I would recommend staying in the city,” Jeff continues off of Ryan’s thought while Ryan stands there nodding along. Tristan glances over at Harry through heavily lidded eyes to see his lips being chewed to death between his teeth. _‘He doesn't seem to want to go along with this either’_ Tristan notes about his body language. 

Harry nods at Jeff and Ryan which Tristan follows along. They all take a seat, Tristan and Harry sitting together in Tristan’s corner of the room, and discuss the contracts. Tristan mainly tunes out of the discussion thinking of what Stella is doing, what Stella is wearing, what Stella smells like right now, but manages to catch a few minor details of the conversation in front of her. “No one can know this is for PR”, “Bound to being seen together at least once every two weeks”, “Do not get caught cheating in public”, the basic stuff. After feigning interest in the legal issues for what Tristan feels like hours, she finally speaks up, cutting Ryan off in the process. 

“How long is this whole _thing_ gonna last? Like are we talking a month, or what?” Tristan bellows out, surprising everyone in the room. Harry stifles a laugh into the back of his hand, disguising it as clearing his throat. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Tristan.

“Well, that solely depends on public perception of you two,” Ryan begins. Tristan can tell he’s about to go on one of his rampage monologues, so she cuts him off before anyone has to suffer through it.

“So there is nowhere in that legal document you have laying on your desk that says an exact timeline?” Tristan croons out in disbelief. Harry again scrunches his face up, his lips suddenly pursed, and looks at Tristan. _He’s not willing to make the moves, but he’s not going to go against them,_ Tristan thinks to herself adding another bullet to her list about Harry in her head. Lucky for him, Tristan wasn’t a coward.

“Well, we’re not saying we don’t have a bit of a loose structure to this narrative, but there is no exact timeline, no,” Jeff says defensively. Harry’s face smoothes out looking fully resigned to allow that non-timeline to happen.

“Unacceptable,” Tristan says briskly.

“Tristan...” Ryan groans out with his head rolling around his neck. Maybe a massage trip would be enough to get Ryan to loosen up and allow Tristan to get away some stuff. She makes sure to put that thought away for a future Christmas gift idea.

“No… I agree with her. I think there needs to be some sort of insurance policy that this won’t be a- uh- long term solution,” Harry speaks up finally. Tristan takes one quick, surprised glance at him before she looks at an annoyed Ryan and Jeff. Her eyebrows shoot up and a winning smile spreads across her face as she takes in their defeated faces. 

“I think I would be fine as long as there is a clear, uneditable, end date outlined clearly in that document,” Tristan sings out as she points her arm deliberately at the innocent stack of papers that were about to take away her freedom. “And I would like to be well aware of that date before my signature is put anywhere on it,” Tristan negotiates, her voice unfaltering. A plus of being thrown into the spotlight before you even hit puberty: nothing really scares you anymore. “Harry is that good for you, too?” she continues, addressing him for the first time since the contract speak began. 

“Yeah, yeah. That’s good with me, as well.” Harry mutters out in the melting butter voice again. Jeff and Ryan look exhausted at each other, clearly having some sort of demonic telepathy conversation that all managers seem to know how to do. 

“That shouldn’t be too much of a problem, right? You said you have a narrative to push, after all!” Tristan says beaming her smile at them again, causing Harry to chuckle aloud this time. Not even trying to stifle it this time. 

“Right, yes. Alright, how about at the maximum, this relationship will last until May 17th of 2017. It’s exactly one year from today, and there will be a chance for it to end before then. Does that meet your _standards_ , Trissy? Or you as well Harry?” Ryan says with the superiority seeping into his tone again. Or maybe Tristan only hears it because she knows he knows how much she despises being called Trissy. Either way. 

“Seems a little long,” Tristan counters.

“It’s just a safety measure,” Ryan hedges.

“What about Christmas of this year?” Tristan pings back. The others in the room are watching Tristan and Ryan like a match at Wimbledon. Tristan is wondering how their necks aren’t snapping with each rapid fire that comes next.

“What about May 17th, 2017?” Ryan shoots at her.

“March 5th, 2017 is as far as I’m willing to go. You want that signed? You make that happen,” Tristan says as she stands up abruptly. “Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’m going to the restroom. I hope I’m right in assuming that when I come back the proper arrangements will be in place.” 

She doesn’t take a glance back as she launches for the door and sweeps herself from the room.

# Harry

“Seems a little long,” Harry hears Tristan argue in a tone that he can only truly describe as terrifying. He can see where the title loose cannon comes from after only this brief introduction he’s had to her. 

“It’s just a safety measure,” Ryan says back. His unphased attitude leads Harry to believe that this sort of back and forth was not an unusual occurrence in this office when Tristan was present.

“What about Christmas of this year?” 

“What about May 17th, 2017?”

“March 5th, 2017, is as far as I’m willing to go. You want that signed? You make that happen.” She stands up abruptly, shocking Harry in the process. “Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’m going to the restroom. I hope I’m right in assuming that when I come back the proper arrangements will be in place.” Tristan announces to the room as she walks out the door without a second glance. Leaving Harry to his own devices. Ryan pauses only for a beat after the door slams shut to open his mouth about the recent events.

“I’m so sorry about her, she’s not always this moody. It might be, you know, _her time of the month_ ,” Ryan says with his voice dropping to a whisper at the tail-end of the comment. It takes everything inside Harry not to defend Tristan against him. There was absolutely nothing wrong or moody about what Tristan has done. Tristan wasn’t moody, she was brave. Much braver than Harry was. 

She was brave like Louis. 

Maybe that was why Harry wanted so badly to defend her against the manager that he didn’t know from Adam. She seemed like Louis. Trying her best to show that she wouldn’t go along with their plan, even if that meant getting chipped away at piece by piece by the gods above. Harry isn’t exactly sure how deep the connection went, but he is sure of one thing: there is more to Tristan than what meets the eye. 

And if he couldn’t protect Louis from people like Ryan, he would damn well make sure he would protect Tristan.

“It’s quite alright, Ryan. We all have hard conversations like these with stubborn clients. It happens,” Jeff says, trying to console him. Harry chalks that up to Jeff’s kind nature rather than his allowance of the misogynistic attitude that Ryan seems to have.

“I quite like her, actually. She’s got a lot of character to her,” Harry offers up to the dismay of Ryan.

“Right, _character_ ,” Ryan says with air quotes. Harry’s blood began to boil a little at the deja vu he felt about the situation. How many times had he heard that exact phrase being applied to him and Louis at only 19 and 17? How many times had he been talked about behind his back by his managers? There were too many times for Harry to count. “Well then. I suppose I should get to writing up new documents. I’ll need to have the lawyers come back in. Oh, Harry, I hate to make you come back again tomorrow, but I’m not equipped with legal jargon to be able to add the right parts-” Ryan says, mainly looking at Jeff despite his direct addressal of Harry. Harry cuts him off quickly. 

“It’s quite alright. I have no problem coming back in tomorrow,” Harry says politely with a smile. 

“Wow, what is it like having someone so eager to listen to your advice?” Ryan asks Jeff with a dumbfounded look and a chilling laugh. The comment rubs Harry the wrong way even further, but he tries his best not to let it show through on his face. 

“Harry’s a good one, that’s for certain! Glad he came to me, in all honesty,” Jeff says in a slightly defensive tone that makes Harry appreciative. If anything, at least Jeff doesn’t stand for the endorsement of Harry as a pushover. He knows better than that. It was clear Ryan Hansen was not a fan of One Direction or Louis Tomlinson if he thought for one second they didn’t give people hell. 

Just like that, Harry’s stomach was in knots again. Of course Ryan Hansen doesn’t know about the shit he and Louis pulled. The old label did a wonderful job of burying all of it under new scandals. New things to care about. Who cared about Rainbow colored bears dressed in Freddie Mercury costumes when you could have a different boyband have an actual member come out of the closet? Forced out of the closet was a more accurate way to describe it, but to the label that was neither here nor there. 

Harry remembered the nights he and Louis spent crying on the phone with Logan Pritchard, the lead singer of the newest boy band set to take One Direction’s place in the label’s hall of fame _Diamond Army _. He remembered the way they leaked his location to the paparazzi, told them exactly what to look for, and then outed him in an article the very next day. He begged Harry and Louis for help, but they could only console him. It was too late. The band soon fell apart, with a little help in that area from the label themselves, and the next big group took their place instead. All because of the label.__

__He remembered Logan asking him and Louis why the label would do something like this to him. They didn’t know how to tell him that they were probably to blame. The label knew that in order to keep Harry and Louis quiet, they had to flex their muscles every once in a while. Show what they were willing to do to those around them if they didn’t cooperate. Whenever he and Louis would pull something just a bit too crazy for their liking, something bad would happen to people around them. That’s how they kept them quiet after realizing there was nothing they could to do them directly that would make them stop._ _

__Harry is brought out of his reverie by the sound of the door swooping open beside him. He knows it’s Tristan before she is even fully through the doorway by the shock of long red hair that flows forward with the rush of air. He glances at her expectantly. He’s only known Tristan for all of forty-five minutes, but considering how many common traits she shares with Louis Tomlinson, Harry knows she won’t be quiet for much longer. It’s only another beat before Harry is proven to be correct._ _

__“I’m assuming by all of your brightly shining faces that you have great news to tell me!” Tristan bellows out in a sing-song voice. Harry never expected Tristan to be like this. After his call this morning with Jeff, he googled her trying to learn a little bit about what she might be like. Harry had been expecting some dull, dumb, diva from the valley, but instead was greeted with a firecracker who would take no one’s shit. He was pleasantly surprised to say the least. He smiled at her while she took her seat next to him again. He hoped they could be friends._ _

__“You’ll have to come back in tomorrow-” Ryan starts, clearly trying to dissuade Tristan from her firm stance. She cuts him off before he truly has a chance to do that, though._ _

__“Great, so we’re free to go?” The words bubble from her lips like champagne. Tristan’s voice lifted and fell like the infinite amount of fizzies inside a freshly poured flute of bubbly. It made Harry feel comfortable with her. Like she was someone he could trust. He bit down on his lip again to stop another smile from spreading._ _

__Ryan gapes at them exasperatedly. His slacked jaw making its way back into a hard line before forcing a wilted smile. He sighs in the lowest of tones which ensures Harry that Ryan wants everyone to understand how utterly annoyed with the situation he is. He begins to realize that he just might hate Ryan Hansen._ _

__“You’re sure you won’t reconsider this silliness and just sign the documents today?” Ryan launches dagger eyes at Tristan while the heat of his words attempt to pierce her armor._ _

__She says nothing, but the fire in her eyes says it all. Harry knows it. Jeff knows it. Hell the people in the skyrise 100 metres across the way know it. And Ryan knows it, too. He knows that this is a battle that Tristan has won. Harry knows the exact moment Ryan accepts his loss because his small smile turns into pursed lips and his head swivels on his neck before it hangs down to his chest in defeat. Harry thinks he might just stay that way until Tristan chooses to walk out of the door again, but then he lifts his head back up and a calm smile has replaced the distress his features held moments before._ _

__“Alright, I’m free at eight o’clock sharp in the morning, does that work for everyone else?” Ryan says, seeming to entertain himself with the idea of having a meeting at eight in the morning on a Sunday. Harry is confused by the exchange to say the least._ _

__“What about church?” Tristan asks seriously._ _

__“Tristan, you don’t go to church,” Ryan barks out with a short laugh. Harry and Jeff, who have been quiet for a majority of this entertaining power struggle, decide that religious affiliation talk is where they draw the line. Jeff opens his mouth to speak, but is quickly interrupted by Tristan._ _

__“To be fair, church can be a place that makes you feel connected to the universe, or god depending on your religious affiliation, so you’re actually incorrect, but that wasn’t what I meant. I might not go to church, but Harry and Jeff might, so I was trying to give them the chance to say that they wouldn’t be able to make it at that time without it being awkward. But, since you’ve already made it awkward, I suppose we might as well continue,” Harry glances at her in awe before turning to Ryan expecting an absolutely visceral reaction. What he sees does not disappoint him. Ryan looks like a half strangled cat who had just been put out of the house after being scolded for making a terrible mess. His eyes are bulging out of their sockets, his face beet red, and his breath coming in controlled and even. Harry then looks at Jeff who seems to wear a mixture of awe in a good way and awe in a bad way on his features._ _

__“I’m good with eight,” Jeff offers up after clearing his throat in an attempt to rid the deafening silence._ _

__“I’m fine with that as well,” Harry says in hope that it will close the conversation and he can go with Tristan alone. He wants to know what she is like without the managers around. He wants to know how much like Louis she really is._ _

__“Perfect! See, Ryan, no harm, no foul!” Tristan says in the sickly sweet voice. Harry coughs another laugh which causes her to look at him in amusement._ _

__After a few moments, the lingering tensions begin to dissipate and Harry and Tristan are given a few options of where to go for Dinner. Apparently after the spectacle that Tristan caused, they were no longer going to be completely up to their own devices anymore. Harry didn’t care that much, though, and it seemed like another drop in the bucket for Tristan. A few more minutes and they were out the door, on the way to Harry’s Range Rover. Harry waits until they are buckled in with no one in sight to start the conversation._ _

__“Hi,” he starts lamely. Tristan stares blankly back at him, seemingly confused by him talking to her._ _

__“Um, hi?” she says back with a rise in tone pulling up at the end of her statement making it sound like a question._ _

__“Do all of your meetings go like that, or was this a one-night-only show?” he asks casually. She returns his serve by laughing half heartedly. He realizes Tristan seems like a frantic deer and if he doesn’t play his cards right, he might accidentally scare her away. He doesn’t want that._ _

__“Yeah, that’s not how they all go. Sometimes they happen like that whenever I think it’s deserved, but usually I don’t really get that much of a say…” she says trailing off, biting her bottom lip. Harry glances at her confused. This sweet, shy girl is nothing like the fiery battalion he had just seen in that room._ _

__“Well, I thought it was… I thought it was brave,” Harry says firmly, wanting to make sure she understands that he gets it without telling her that he gets it. “What you did in there takes a lot of guts. It’s not what I would have expected from you” Tristan stares at him awkwardly; she was clearly not used to people telling her that giving those in charge a bit of hell was brave._ _

__“Thanks,” she mumbles after a moment's hesitation. “Wait, what do you mean not what you would’ve expected from me?” she asks as she fumbles around with her seatbelt. _’Shit, shouldn’t have said that’_ Harry thinks to himself._ _

__“Well, I might have, like, googled you this morning,” Harry says, owning up to it. She might as well know, it wasn’t that weird. At least not in this circumstance. Harry glances up at her hesitantly only to see her face filled with contemplation. A single sounding ‘hmm’ is all he receives before her walls are back up completely._ _

__The car ride is slow and silent. Tristan stares out the window for most of the way to the restaurant that Jeff suggested they go to. Harry keeps glancing over at her, hoping she’ll speak to him so he can find out more of her story. He also could use a friend right now, but that’s not something he’s willing to share with Tristan just yet._ _

__Just as they were about to turn into the parking lot, the music on the radio cuts out and the sound of Harry’s preset ringtone floods the car. Tristan jumps in her seat at the unexpected change before settling down and looking at Harry._ _

__“Are you gonna answer that?” she asks him cautiously, eyeing the phone that was turned face down in the center console._ _

__Harry answers her by reaching down to his phone and picking it up. His eyes squint in confusion at the number popping up. It was a number he thought he recognized, but couldn’t remember from where. Tristan is watching him suspiciously, curiosity clearly breaking her icy silence. Her eyebrows quirk, and her mouth opens seemingly wanting to ask a question, but it snaps shut before anything comes out. Her eyebrows furrow as she continues to stare at Harry, who happens to be staring at the phone in his hand._ _

__Eventually Harry decides that he isn’t going to answer it. He can’t help but feel a sense of familiarity with the number, but he would rather just wait and see if they leave a message than face the possibility of someone he doesn’t want to talk to being on the other line. He declines the call and looks up at Tristan who still looks confused._ _

__“Nope,” he finally answers her question from at least thirty seconds prior. Tristan laughs at that, her cold face melting into a serene one._ _

__“Are we at the point that I can ask who that was?” Tristan asks, her eyes guarded again, but her face warm and welcoming. This time, Harry chuckles at her._ _

__“No, but I’ll tell you anyway,” Harry says with a smile. “I have absolutely no idea who that was.”_ _

__“You stared at it for at least, like, two minutes, but you didn’t know who it was?” Tristan chuckles out incredulously._ _

__“Yeah,” Harry rasps out. Tristan eyes him, disbelief clear on her features, but doesn’t question it any further._ _

__“Okay,” she snorts with a shrug as she reaches for the door handle._ _

__“I’m s’posed to get that for you I think… the door, I mean,” Harry says idly, reaching for his own door handle._ _

__“I don’t know if you can tell this by now or not, but I’m not the kind of person who lets people open car doors for them,” Tristan mutters while pushing herself out of the car with no hesitation._ _

__“Yeah, I can see that,” Harry mumbles to himself with a smile._ _


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again thank u to Hanna and Jen for being the best betas!!! 
> 
> *This is a work of fiction*
> 
> Enjoy!!

Chapter 3

# Tristan

The restaurant that Jeff recommended to them is nice. It’s an Italian twist restaurant that you can truly only find in Los Angeles. The lighting is low, but not too low that Tristan needs to squint her eyes to read her menu, which is a plus. She’s never understood the draw of mood lighting so low you can’t see the face of the person you’re with. The menu is large with everything from roasted duck to vegan gnocchi on it which is another plus because Tristan is starving. 

Although the restaurant is great, the paparazzi looming by the window with cameras that range from iPhone to microwave in size are not. Harry and Tristan have been here all of ten minutes, and the vultures already have the place surrounded. Tristan feels the flashes before she sees them which is a trick she’s picked up after years of being photographed without her consent. She sighs quietly while she sips on the cosmopolitan she isn’t legally allowed to have. 

Harry is looking down at his menu with a grimace. Tristan can’t tell if it’s indecisiveness that’s causing the face or the uncomfortable nature of the situation. From what she had observed about Harry today, it was probably both. He didn’t seem to enjoy the spotlight much which is hard to believe considering how widely publicized he has been. It wasn’t something she was used to with her past beards. People always used Tristan’s name to promote themselves. She tries very hard not to let that thought escape her mouth for fear of people thinking she was conceded on top of all the other narratives they thought they knew about her. But it was true. Tristan was nearly always the bigger name in her relationships. It was hard not to be when she was regarded as one of the most famous people under twenty-five in the world. She had three Emmys and an Academy Award to her name. She didn’t see herself any differently than anyone else, but she would be stupid to think that she needed a fake relationship for name building purposes.

She needed fake relationships because she didn’t like boys the way she liked girls. Their delicate touches, feathery kisses, the soft curve of their bodies, and angelic smiles. It was everything to Tristan. But for the managers, it was a blasphemous blip on her résumé. The metaphorical iceberg for Tristan’s brand. All due to the fact that wanting to eat her girlfriend out instead of sucking on some idiot’s dick was for some godforsaken reason frowned upon in today’s society. It didn’t matter to them that gay marriage was legalized. It didn’t matter that big name stars were still successful after coming out. All that mattered was the possibility of Tristan’s name being tainted by the word ‘lesbian’ enough that no one would care about her. That no one would cast her in straight roles ever again. That they couldn’t make any money off of her anymore. 

She wondered what Harry was in this for though. Tristan knew his purpose in her life, but why did he need to be here? What did Tristan bring that Harry fucking Styles couldn’t bring for himself? It wasn’t exactly a question she could ask him directly yet, though; it also didn’t seem like one he would know the answer to even if she could. He seemed just as fed up with this whole situation as Tristan was, even if he wasn’t willing to chokehold those who make the plans like Tristan was. She supposed that she was an actress, so maybe he wanted to get into acting, but that was the only thing Tristan could think of off the top of her head. She might’ve thought he was gay, too, if she didn’t know how many girls he’s slept with. She didn’t know much about him, but she’s been around this godforsaken place long enough to know the type. To have heard the rumors. 

It didn’t really matter though what Harry’s manager’s reasoning was for choosing her. It only really matters that he did, and that they were here. And they were in it for the long haul it seemed, so it was a good thing that she didn’t hate him. At least not yet. She didn’t quite expect to make a friend out of this ordeal, but Harry seems like someone she could be friends with. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t know she’s not into dudes and thinks he might get some later if he plays his cards right. There was no way around it, though: he was nice. 

“I don’t think we’re being very convincing,” Tristan notes softly, placing her hand idly across the white lace tablecloth. Harry looks at for a second with confusion wearing him like a dress before it dawns on him what Tristan is attempting to accomplish. “There you go, rockstar,” she mutters as he takes her hand in his. 

Harry’s hands are rough, but still soft somehow. His fingers have clear indentions and calluses from years of playing guitar, but they don’t feel worn. The last time Tristan held hands with a musician, it felt like their hands were made from an old Italian man’s weathered leather boots. Harry’s hands were a plus she wasn’t expecting to have.

“What are you going to get?” she asks quietly, still perched behind her own menu. 

“I was thinking about the salmon pasta, but I really want peas, so I’m not sure,” 

“I’m sorry, did you just say you wanted peas?” Tristan laughs out, blinking in disbelief and disgust. Harry shyly looks up at her, embarrassment creeping over his features before ducking his head again. 

“I like peas a lot,” he defends himself smiling. Of course, he did. 

“Remember how you said I wasn’t what you expected?” Tristan asks, blatantly ignoring the fact that other people could probably hear her and she should probably lower her volume. Harry nods slowly while tearing his eyes away from his menu again to look at her. “Well, rockstar, you are definitely not what I expected. And I didn’t even Google you to try to find anything out.” Harry flashes her a dimpled, crooked smile at that comment.

“What were you expecting?” He asks her in the melted butter voice, putting extra emphasis on the last word. Tristan could assume he was flirting with her since he has no idea about the fact that he will not in any circumstance be getting laid tonight, and for the most part: she does. However, a small part of her doesn’t actually think that at all. She’s beginning to think Harry Styles might actually just be a nice guy. A flirt, sure, but not in any way that is harmful. A flirt with no expectations. She doesn’t trust him by a long shot, but she’s starting to hope he might actually just want to be Tristan’s friend.

“For you to be an absolute, inconsolable, dick if I’m being honest,” she says laughing. Harry laughs along with her. “You’re not one, though. I can tell because you just publicly owned up to the fact that you like peas when no one likes peas.” 

“A lot of people like peas,” Harry says indignantly, but he’s smiling the winning smile that makes Tristan feel like maybe she can trust him. No one evil can have a smile like that. 

“So what’s your story, rockstar?” she asks kindly, slipping her hand out of Harry’s only to settle it back down to fiddle with his rings. _‘He wears a lot of rings’_ Tristan stores in her vault.

“What do you mean?” Harry asks hesitantly which surprises Tristan. Not because he seems like a completely open book, but because she doesn’t understand the flash that crosses his eyes when she asks. He’s still smiling a little, but the sparkle in his eye is gone. “Also, I have a lot of nicknames, but rockstar isn’t one of the ones I’m most fond of,” he insisted sheepishly.

“What would you like me to call you, then?” Tristan muses quietly. His evasion of the original question doesn’t go unnoticed. Tristan was media trained too, after all. She knew the tactics.

“My friends call me H, usually. Like, just the letter. I like that one quite a lot,” Harry mutters out looking away from Tristan again. Another media training tactic: be flippant and act like you have nothing to hide and they’ll stop pestering you about it. Tristan has to laugh. 

“You’re avoiding my original question, H,” Tristan chuckles out.

“No, I’m not,” Harry says with chagrin clear on his face.

Before she has a chance to reply, her phone is buzzing in her lap. She brings it up to look at who is calling; it sends her heart into overdrive when she sees who it is. Harry’s story can wait until later.

“I’m sorry, I have to take this. I’ll be back,” Tristan says to Harry quickly before throwing her napkin on the table and all but sprinting to the bathroom. She turns around once to yell, “I expect an answer when I get back,” which Harry laughs at. 

She slams into the door to the restroom in a rush shoulder first. She’ll probably have a bruise. She really shouldn’t be this excited, but she can’t help it. She presses ‘accept call’ and breathlessly puts the phone up to her ear. “Hello,” she sighs out flusteredly. 

“Hi, love,” Stella said back to her. Tristan couldn’t see her, but she knows she has her sad smile settled on her face which kills Tristan’s insides. 

“Hi,” Tristan says, her hand hovering over the speaker in case anyone else was in the bathroom to hear the call. “How was today? I missed you.”

“It was bloody awful, to be honest. I think I have whiplash from the amount of teasing they did to my hair. Did you know they like to tease curly girls because it makes their hair bigger? Me hair is already pretty bloody big on its own if you ask me,” Stella says, her normally much posher accent breaking midway through her rant, and her northern one shining through instead. Tristan giggles in a hushed tone, butterflies raking through her stomach and into her chest. It didn’t matter how long she had been with Stella, every day there was a new reason to love her. Every day was a new reason for butterflies.

“Does that mean I’m going to be picking your hairballs out of the shower for the next two weeks?” Tristan giggles out in a whisper.

“Damn right you are, baby,” Stella laughs into a sigh. “Anyway, enough about me. How are you? How was Ryan? Dickhead as usual?”

“Worse than usual, honestly. God, Stellz, I wish you could have been in there with me. He was being such a prick, I couldn’t take it,” Tristan sneers.

“What did he do, babes?” Stella soothes. If they were at home, Tristan knows exactly what would be happening: Stella would have grabbed the kettle that she insists they own and put the tea on before coaxing Tristan’s head into her lap while she ran her silky fingers over Tristan’s scalp. She would’ve made Tristan tell her every last detail of her day until the kettle screamed at them, and then she would’ve fixed Tristan’s tea the way she liked it. She would’ve called Tristan over to the kitchen to grab it from her, but Tristan would know what the real reason was. Then, she would’ve grabbed Tristan’s hands in hers, played their favorite songs, and slow-danced with her until Tristan felt better. 

It was all Tristan wanted to be doing right now.

“There’s too much to explain, honestly. And I’m at the restaurant I texted you about earlier now with Harry, so I don’t have long enough to tell you it all,” Tristan mumbles into the receiver. “I’ll tell you everything once I get home, though, okay? And you can tell me all about your massive hair.”

“Alright, love,” Stella lilts out sweetly. Before Tristan has a chance to say anything back to it though, Stella is speaking again. “I’m here alone at the flat, by the way. Waiting for you to come home. Not to rush you with your new _boyfriend,_ though. I’m sure you’re having an absolutely incredible time,” Stella says with a not so subtle hint of jealousy in her voice. Tristan attempts to squeak a reply but is cut off by Stella. “Oh, right, and I’m wearing nothing but a thong made of candy and nip covers that supposedly taste like strawberries. Here let me…” Tristan waits as she hears the sound of Stella’s tongue lapping at something in through the receiver. “Yep, it does in fact taste like strawberries. Can confirm for you, babe.” Tristan feels like she might fall over in the stall.

“Are you telling me… that you just… _licked_ your own nipple? And I wasn’t there to see it?” Tristan squeaks out quietly finding it hard to maintain her grip on reality. 

“Bit it, too, just for good measure.” Tristan swallows hard.

“ _God_ , I haven’t even ordered yet, Stella. Why are you doing this to me?” Tristan groans while biting at her lip, heat quickly flushing through her body. 

“Be home soon, okay? I know you need to get back, I just thought you would want to know what will be waiting for you when you get here,” Stella croons out seductively.

“I love you,” Tristan says tenderly.

“I’ll see you soon, baby. Love you more,” Stella says as she hangs up the phone. _Not possible_ Tristan wants to say back. It is simply impossible for anyone to love anyone more than she loves Stella McClain. Shower hairballs and all. 

She takes one more steadying breath before she makes her way back to her fake date with Harry Styles.

# Harry

“No, I’m not,” Harry says, trying to hide his nerves with a smile. Harry couldn’t tell Tristan the truth about himself. Even if it wasn’t still fresh enough to rip him apart straight down the middle when he talked about it, he was literally contractually bound not to tell her. Lucky for him, Tristan gets up before she can pepper him any further with questions. 

“I’m sorry, I have to take this. I’ll be back,” she says to Harry seemingly out of breath before launching her napkin halfway across the table and pushing herself back in her chair. He starts sputtering with a laugh when she nearly trips over the chair leg on her way to the restroom. He watches her giddily run like a deer, only halfway acknowledging when she turns around once to yell, “I expect an answer when I get back.” Harry laughs at the absolute pure joy on her face without meaning to.

Harry glances down at his own phone with his smile still shining out from his face only for it to furrow up again blankly at the missed call notification that he never cleared away from his lock screen. He read the numbers twice over in his head, even more, sure now that he had seen this number somewhere. He thinks about calling it back, but the idea that it could be someone he truly didn’t want to talk to made him realign his curiosity. 

He reached across the table for a breadstick, feeling awkward sitting alone while Tristan was gone. He can see the headlines now: **“Womanizer Harry Styles left alone in the middle of date by actress Tristan Blair.”** The article would practically write itself. _“Did she escape out the window after Harry asked for sex on the first date?”, “Did she find out that the cheating rumors about him and Kendall Jenner were true?”, “Had she had enough of his habit of sleeping around?”_. It would be music to TMZ’s ears. 

Harry never really cared about what those articles said about him if he was being honest, though. It did get a bit annoying when people started taking them seriously enough to take to social media and call him things like a ‘walking STD’, but normally he didn’t mind it. He knew it was all lies, and so did the people around him that he cared about. The tabloids just wanted a story. All Harry ever wanted was for Louis to know they weren’t true. That was the only thing that he ever did worry about, but every time a new one would come out Louis would hold him and run his fingers through his curls. Louis would make sure Harry knew that he never doubted him. Never doubted his loyalty to him. Never doubted his love. 

The aching scar in Harry’s chest rips open wide, a tidal wave being released alongside it. He couldn’t break down here in public on a fake date with a girl he had only met a handful of hours ago and paparazzi swarming the windows. He took a deep, steadying breath before calling the nearest waiter over and asking them for a vodka tonic with no tonic and extra vodka. The waiter only looked at him with a mild level of concern which gave Harry the assurance that maybe he didn’t outwardly look like he was falling apart at the seams like he felt he was on the inside. 

He ran his hand through his long curls, fiddling with the ends that now reached a few inches past his shoulders. Louis loved his curls. Many times Harry would look in the mirror on his way back to bed and tell Lou that he wanted a haircut. Louis would look at Harry with a face that was specially reserved for him and tell him that he would rather Harry cut off his dick than for him to cut off his hair. Then Louis would poke at his sides until he agreed not to cut either of them off, and they would laugh in each other’s arms until they fell asleep smiling. 

Harry really needed that vodka.

He turned around desperately searching for the waiter instead, however, he was met with the sight of Tristan leaving the toilets. Even from here, Harry could tell that her eyes were dazed and sparkling. Her cheeks were a little flushed, and her smile was wide. Harry was only a little worried that maybe her ‘loose cannon’ title could’ve come from a possible middle-of-a-fake-date drug habit as well as her brevity inside a contract discussion. He didn’t really know her after all. He only felt like he did because he reminds her so much of- 

Again, Harry really, really needs that vodka.

Tristan makes her way back to the table, still glowing and flustered, but in a completely straight line which makes Harry nag at himself. Of course, she wouldn’t go do cocaine in the bathroom in the middle of their date. He may have only known her for a short period of time, but he feels like he should’ve had at least a little bit more faith in her than that. 

“Hey,” she says easily as she sits back down in her chair, grabbing for her drink and chugging it far faster than alcohol should ever be drunk. Harry looks at her with a slow smile creasing his face, his features softening. 

“Welcome back,” Harry says as he reaches for another breadstick. “Thought you might have left me alone out here and crawled out the bathroom window,” he joked.

“Who me? No, I would never do that. I’m way too pretty to be forced out a window from a date,” Tristan says, the light in her eyes almost blinding Harry. She seemed happy, almost euphoric. 

“Okay, what would you do if- let’s say you were on a real date- and you hated them midway through?” Harry chuckles out as he watches Tristan look around the room with her hand on her chin in mock inquisitiveness. 

“Hmmm, I’ve actually never been on a terrible date with someone I’ve dated in real life, so I’m not sure. I definitely wouldn’t crawl out a window though,” she takes a pause to scoff. “Can you imagine the TMZ headlines the next day? Tristan Blair stuck in a bathroom window trying to escape the date from hell.” Harry giggles at the sudden shift in her normally neutral accent when she decides that everyone from TMZ must sound like they’re born and raised in Calabasas. 

“Have you ever dated someone in real life?” Harry asks before he can stop himself. Tristan stops laughing, but the light never leaves her eyes. She takes a breath, and Harry isn’t sure that she is going to answer. Sure enough, though, her mouth opens and she exhales slowly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I have.” she admits, the fire in her eyes unmistakable. 

“Who was he?” Harry asks, grinning at her for reassurance. Her eyes dim momentarily before they flash away from him entirely. Harry drops his grin trying to figure out what could’ve caused the change.

“Oh, um, no one. It all happened a long time ago,” she says kindly, but when she puts her eyes back on him, they are guarded again. The fire washed away. 

“I’m sorry for overstepping. I really didn’t mean to intrude on your personal life,” Harry apologizes, trying to make sure she understands the sincerity in it.

“No, no you’re… It’s not... It’s fine, I promise. You really didn’t overstep, it’s a common question,” she stutters back, her new smile not touching her eyes. Harry doesn’t reply, he just looks down feeling awful that he may have somehow made Tristan upset completely on accident. He’s raking through his brain to think what could’ve been the cause before he comes up with the only explanation he can think of.

“I assume it ended poorly?” he asks seriously, nodding his head along in understanding. He wouldn’t want to be asked about past breakups either, so he understood the flash in Tristan’s eyes, now. He wants her to know that he is someone she can talk to about it if she needs to.

To his immense surprise, Tristan bellows out a windchime of a laugh that he hasn’t heard escape her all night. She slaps her hand over her mouth to stifle the giggle, before clearing her throat in a poor attempt to disguise it.

“What’s so funny?” Harry asks, extremely amused.

“Sorry, it wasn’t… It just caught me off guard,” Tristan says while trying, seemingly very hard, to stifle the smile playing at her lips.

“So it didn’t end poorly?” 

“I mean, I guess you could say we’re still pretty close friends, yeah. So no, it didn’t end-um- poorly or anything.” Her eyes were starting to glow again which made Harry feel both confused and pleased. 

“Oh well, that’s good I s’pose, yeah? Sorry, I just assumed since you didn’t want to talk about it,” Harry mumbles out slightly embarrassed. “I think I’m putting my foot in my mouth too often tonight.”

“No, it’s okay. I didn’t, like, mean to make you feel, like weird. I shouldn’t have laughed, it was just… I don’t really know how to explain to you why it was funny, so I think I’m going to stop,” Tristan says hurriedly. Harry hears the slightest of hints of a Texas accent in her voice for the first time as she speaks. 

“You could try if you want. You don’t have to, of course,” Harry mutters encouragingly.

“No, I really, really can’t,” Tristan laughs lightly. “They were great, though, to answer your earlier question. It was a great relationship.” Harry can feel the burning in her eyes even though she has shifted them to look down at her hands fiddling with her napkin. 

“Why did it-,” Harry starts to ask before cutting himself off. 

“Why did it end, Mr. Curious?” Tristan says sarcastically, but with no edge to her words.

“Sorry, I’ll stop,” Harry smiles out, biting his lip. They both fall silent for too long of a beat.

“You really want to know don’t you?” Tristan sighs out before laughing lightly.

“A little bit, yeah,” Harry admits. Tristan sighs again, her smile falling a little.

“It just wasn’t the right… It was like the right person, right time, wrong situation? That doesn’t really make sense, but, like, it’s just- I mean it was just- like a lot to deal with. You know being in the spotlight and stuff, it gets hard. And sometimes people want something different for you than you want for yourself, so you have to give in to that a little bit for it to make sense, I guess,” Tristan trails off toward the end, looking away. Harry stares at her while she looks longingly towards the windows. 

Lost in utter confusion, Harry opens his mouth to ask another question but then stops short because he isn’t sure what he would ask her. He blindly hopes that she’ll continue. He waits a few more seconds, but Tristan still seems completely engrossed in the thoughts of her own fruition, so he clears his throat in hopes of pulling her out of her reverie. She glances at him confused, so he knows he has to ask for her to elaborate. He’s in too deep at this point to stop caring that easily.

“I don’t think I quite understand what you mean,” Harry says slowly.

“I figured you wouldn’t,” Tristan says with chagrin on her face but haughtiness in her voice.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Harry chuckles out, no malice intended with his words.

“People like you… I mean people that… It’s just hard to explain unless you know someone else will get it. Like I could spend hours explaining what I mean, but unless you also know what I mean, you still won’t get it,” Tristan riddles out as Harry tries to fumble with her words like a Rubix cube.

“What do you mean ‘people like me’?” Harry asks, keeping his face calm even though her words alarm him that she might know more about Harry’s situation than she led on. 

“I mean people that don’t have to deal with people making their relationships have bad situations.” 

“I have to deal with that, too,” Harry chuckles out again in relief. It was clear in that moment that Tristan knew nothing about the truth of his relationships. Well, relationship- singular-, but that was neither here nor there. What she was trying to say still didn’t make sense to Harry though. Even his beard relationships went through hard times, so he wasn’t sure what Tristan was getting at here.

“It’s different. Trust me.”

“Is it because I’m a man?” Harry asks carefully. “Like is it harder because you’re a woman?” 

“I mean yes, but that wasn’t exactly what I meant…” Tristan trails off again, but this time she looks sad. Harry was a fan of puzzles, but this was one he felt that he couldn’t even solve. What difference could Tristan have between her and Harry that wasn’t related to gender or sexuality?

The realization hits Harry quickly like an oncoming train at top speed. _‘It’s just hard to explain unless you know someone else will get it’_ , he hears echoing through his head like a cry for help from deep in a cavern. Luckily for him, it happens at the exact moment the waiter walks up with Harry’s long-forgotten tonic-less vodka, asking for them to place their order, so Tristan doesn’t see the way his face darkens. The smile he wore proudly only moments ago was washed away like sidewalk chalk in a thunderstorm. Harry was pretty sure he knew what his role was now, and the understanding made him ache with grief. Tristan Blair wasn’t just a beard for Harry. Harry was pretty certain he was a beard for Tristan Blair. 

And Harry was pretty sure she had no idea that the role he played for her was the same role she was playing for him.

The giggly phone call. The flushed face. The light in her eyes. The way her eyes flashed when asked who he was. Harry knew because he had been there. Harry knew because all of those things had happened to him before. Harry knew because he was like Tristan, and Tristan was like him.

Closeted.

Tristan wouldn’t be here with Harry if the person on that phone call were a man. Tristan wouldn’t have reacted to his questions that way if she were talking about a man. Tristan wouldn’t have laughed like that if the ending actually existed. Managers and labels might seem cruel, but they wouldn’t hide a relationship if they didn’t feel like they had to. It takes too much time, energy, and resources to hide a relationship based purely on aesthetics. No, they only hide relationships that would make your stock take a hit. Ones that could cause them to lose money. He knew he couldn’t lose his composure yet, not with the paps outside eyeing his every little move. He also knew that if he was right, Tristan needed to be the one to tell him. He couldn’t edge it out of her. He couldn’t tell her about himself.

 _‘Unless you also know what I mean, you won’t get it’_. If only Tristan knew exactly how wrong she was with that statement. 

Harry was suddenly very thankful for the vodka now sitting on the table. He picked it up and drank it almost as fast as Tristan did earlier. He makes a face at the taste but is thankful that the burn is in his throat rather than in his chest.

“Harry,” Tristan says to him hesitantly, nodding her head toward the waiter. Shit, ordering food, he thought to himself. 

“Uh- I’ll… I’ll just have salmon, please,” Harry answers with a forced smile before taking another huge sip from his drink. “And, can I, um, get another of these?” he asks, gesturing to his vodka. The waiter nods and walks away.

“Are you okay? You look pissed. Did I say something?” Tristan asks, worry seeping in her tone. Harry worked to control himself better for her sake. 

“Oh, yeah I’m- I’m fine. Having a lovely time, really!” Harry lilts out with a smile, hoping to god that Tristan can’t hear the tightness that threatens to seep into his voice.

“Okay, H, whatever you say,” Tristan says quickly while laying her hand palm out on the table again. “For the show of it all, right?” she mutters with a slight smile, glancing down at her hand which Harry takes easily in his. 

“Right,” he says fondly, a resigned smile built from the ashes from years of hiding behind it on his face. She squeezes his hand once before launching into a series of small talk topics that Harry is sure she has memorized from years of practice with beard dates. He listens intently, laughs along when necessary, and asks questions the same amount of time that he answers them. It’s hard to hold himself together, but he does his best to be strong for both of them. 

It’s at that moment that Harry makes a promise to himself. He was going to make sure nothing bad ever happened to Tristan Blair if he could help it. And that’s a promise that he intends to keep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again thank you to Hanna and Jenna for always being the best!! 
> 
> *This is a work of fiction, this did not happen, only half of the characters even exist in real life :)*
> 
> Also sorry this chapter is like double the length of the other chapters oops :)

# Tristan

The soft sound of Stella’s whimper like snore cascades around Tristan’s room like a cloud of comfort. She remembers at the beginning of their relationship, the first night they ever spent together, she couldn’t sleep for hours because of it. Now, ironically, she couldn’t sleep without hearing it. She smiles sleepily as she snuggles harder into the small of Stella’s back, her arm wrapping around her tiny waist to pull her tighter. She ignores the taste of hair in her mouth in favor of the serenity that comes with feeling Stella’s body heat wrap around her. Stella shrinks back into Tristan softly, her snores sputtering before coming to a stop. Tristan moves her head forward to press a tender kiss to Stella’s shoulder blade. 

“Good morning, love,” Stella sighs out, sleep still strongly present in her voice. She latches her dainty, warm hands around Tristan’s forearm.

“Good morning,” Tristan echoes back softly. 

“You smell nice,” Stella whispers while pulling Tristan even closer somehow, intertwining her tiny ankle between Tristan’s slender calves. “Kind of like strawberries,” she says with some lingering seduction from the night before.

“Shut up, I do not still smell like strawberries,” Tristan laughs out, her mind flashing to Stella’s insistence on covering Tristan in fresh strawberries and whip cream last night. She laughs again at the memory of Stella’s face when Tristan decided to turn what could have been a very sexy event into a full-on food fight; whip cream flying all around the room. Tristan would never admit just how much she enjoyed watching Stella eat it off of her after they had their fun because she couldn’t handle the mess they had to clean up ever again. 

“Mmm, strawberries,” Stella jokes as she pulls Tristan’s arm to her mouth and laps her tongue over it once slowly. Tristan tries to rip her arm away, but Stella’s grip is like a vice. She’s also not pulling that hard, but she would never tell Stella that. 

“You’re so gross,” Tristan giggles out as she swings her leg over and contorts her body to be on top of Stella. She lays her hands gingerly on Stella’s stomach, leaning her head down to kiss the tender skin of her chest. Stella lifts her head higher on the pillow to look down on Tristan with a gentle smile tugging at her pink, full lips. Her hands playfully tugging at the end of Tristan’s braids that she wore to sleep.

“My very own perfect Strawberry Shortcake doll,” Stella breathes out softly, looking at Tristan as if this was a world that was only built for the two of them. 

“Can we just lay here and do nothing together all day?” Tristan sighs out, returning Stella’s adoring gaze. Stella giggles at her hopeful tone.

“I have nothing better to do. Do you have anything better to do?”

“There is nowhere I would rather be than laying just like this for the rest of my life,” Tristan sighs out, leaning up to plant a series of kisses to Stella's collarbone. 

“Mmm, that sounds nice,” Stella breathes out with a smile, laying her head back and locking one of her arms softly around Tristan’s shoulders. “What time is it?” she asks after a lingering moment of quiet bliss, still mindlessly flipping Tristan’s braid with her fingers. 

“I think it’s 9:30, but I’m not sure. Haven’t looked, yet.”

“You didn’t check the time? You always check the time,” Stella muses as she moves her hand from Tristan’s hair to cup her face. 

“Got distracted by some freak licking my arm,” Tristan teases. Stella scoffs lightheartedly at her, patting her face one more time before moving her hand to reach for a phone. 

“I really fancy the idea of getting a clock in here. I think that would be quite a feature,” Stella grumbles as she struggles to reach Tristan’s phone from across the bed. Tristan chuckles at her, resting her head down completely on Stella’s chest. 

“Oh, hey baby, you have a text.”

“This early? Who from?” Tristan asks, confused. 

“Your _boyfriend_ ,” Stella says with no attempt to hide her annoyance. Tristan sighs and rolls from her very comfortable position in order to take the phone from Stella. 

It had been about five weeks since Harry and Tristan had signed the papers, and there had only been one other stunt so far. It was a charity event where they showed up together and then hung out by the snack table, nothing more. Tristan hates to admit it, but she really didn’t have a bad time. Harry was always extremely nice to her, and never once has he asked her to fuck him which is a plus that Tristan did not in the slightest expect. The only downside of the stunt was that Stella was there, too. Normally, that would be music to Tristan’s ears, but with Harry things were different. He didn’t know about Stella like most of the others had. So when she introduced them, she didn’t quite know how to act. Not that she didn’t want Stella and Harry to be friends, but figuring out how not to tell her fake boyfriend that her best friend is actually her very gay girlfriend was actually really hard despite what some might think. Stella has been a little pissy about the whole thing ever since so Tristan tries not to bring it or him up if she can avoid it. 

“Oh god, now he’s _phoning_ you. Alright, that’s my cue, love. I’m showering. Have a fun time sucking dick or whatever you two do together,” Stella drops the phone and crows out with a flick of her wrist as she gets up and walks to the bathroom. Tristan makes an uncomfortable face at the thought of Harry having a dick, but she shakes it off before reaching for her phone and accepting the call.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, Tris,” Harry says kindly into the phone.

“Did you know some people like to sleep in sometimes?” She says playfully.

“Oh god, I’m sorry. Did I wake you? I can call back later,” Harry says anxiously. Clearly Tristan wasn’t good at sarcasm without facial expressions.

“Harry, I’m kidding. Relax. What’s up?” she says with a laugh escaping her. She hears Stella groan from the bathroom in annoyance, so she makes a point to be quieter.

“Right, well, I got a call from Jeff this morning,” he says with an uncomfortable pause. “He suggested, on behalf of Ryan as well apparently, that you should come along on the holiday I’m about to go on. And I might be wrong, but I don’t _actually_ think it was a suggestion.”

“Oh… um… okay… is it like a weekend thing? Or…” Tristan sputters out, already dreading the conversation she’s going to have with Stella once she gets out of the shower.

“No, but, I mean, it’s just for a week. I’m going to Jamaica because I have a private house there, and some of my mates are coming along as well. You can feel free to um, invite, _someone_. You know if you wanted to,” Harry says with extra emphasis on ‘someone’ which confuses Tristan greatly. Maybe Harry didn’t like Stella as much as Stella didn’t like Harry which was a very odd thought. 

“I honestly don’t know who I would invite,” Tristan lies, hoping Harry won’t question her on it.

“Oh, well, I remember at the charity dinner you introduced me to your best friend, um, what was her name?” _Shit_ , Tristan thinks to herself. 

“Stella,” she informs him automatically, “Her name is Stella, but she’s a model. And I’m pretty sure she’s, um, busy that week.” Harry takes a pause before answering Tristan’s thought.

“You don’t even know when it is, though?” Harry finally says with confusion coloring his voice. ‘ _Goddamn it Tristan, you can’t slip like that. Focus_ ’ Tristan warns herself. 

“I just meant that she’s always busy, ya know? Famous supermodel and all,” Tristan rushes out, forcing a laugh for good measure. She might have an Academy Award to her name, but she’s starting to feel like she should look for a new job with this performance.

“Oh, okay. I just thought that it would be nice for you guys to come together. You know, since you’re best friends and all,” Harry mumbles apologetically, a hint of sadness falling through his words. 

“No, it was very sweet of you to offer. Thank you. I’ll check with her, but my automatic assumption is probably not.”

“Okay, well, if she can- and again she is more than welcome- please just let me know and I’ll include her on the travel plans,” Harry says, sounding hopeful again. 

“Okay, I’ll ask her about that week and let you know,” Tristan lies again. Harry takes another pause.

“Tris?” Harry drawls out slowly.

“Yeah?” 

“I still haven’t told you the week,” Harry laughs out. Tristan begins to wonder if the Academy will take mail-in returns of awards because she clearly didn’t deserve one at this point. 

“God, I’m sorry, I’m, like, a little all over the place this morning. What week is it that we’re gonna, um, go?” Tristan stammers out, throwing her head in her hands and rubbing her temples. ‘ _Stupid, stupid, stupid_ ,’ she screams at herself in her head.

“Two weeks from today is when we’d leave. And you’re sure you can make it right?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m off from everything for the next month at least,” Tristan mutters while trying to throw in some excitement in her tone. 

“Alright, perfect. And we’re still on for the thing today right?” Harry asks kindly as Tristan freezes in place. She had completely forgotten about the stunt today. “That was part of why I called you so early, by the way. I figured you’d be, you know, getting ready, or something.”

“Oh my god, I completely forgot. Shit. What time are we going? Wait, what are we even doing again? Shit, sorry,” Tristan breathes out frantically. Harry tries to hide a laugh with a cough.

“It’s just a park date. And we’re going in like an hour and a half. Unless you want to ditch and deal with Ryan.”

“Yeah, not today. Maybe some other time, but definitely not today. I gotta go get ready. I’ll see you in a while,” Tristan hurries out, staring at the door to the bathroom almost willing for Stella to get out. She really did still smell and feel like strawberry slime, and that was not something she wanted to have to explain to Harry.

“Right, okay. I’ll see you then. Bye, Tris.”

“Bye, H,” she says as she slams her phone down on the bed, running like a maniac to pick out an outfit to wear. Stupid stunt dates ruining her morning. 

Tristan eventually decides on a cropped tank top that was rainbow block colored just for the irony of it and a pair of ripped black jeans that were probably stylish in the late eighties but probably aren’t anymore. She laid those out on the bed, biting her nails waiting for Stella to emerge from the bathroom. 

After waiting another five minutes, Tristan realizes that isn’t going to happen anytime soon. She takes a deep breath because she knows what she is about to do is going to cause a fight, and walks into the bathroom while stripping off her pajamas that were sticking to her just slightly. 

“Hey baby, can I join you?” Tristan asks wearily. 

“You wanna come in, hmm?” Stella concluded, seductively peeking her head out of the door to the shower. 

“I really need to shower,” Tristan offers up weakly with a shrug and weary smile. Stella smiles exotically as she reaches for Tristan’s arm and tugs her in lightly. Tristan goes willingly, but she has fear settling deep in the pits of her stomach. 

Once Tristan is submerged under the showerhead, Stella pulls her in tight to her body and holds on. She runs a hand through her shower dampened curls, pushing them back off of her face and then does the same to Tristan’s. She brings her face down to Tristan’s neck, nipping at the spot her ear that she knows always makes Tristan’s knees wobble. Tristan sighs deeply, wrapping her arms around Stella and rotating them to where Tristan can stand under the water. Maybe Tristan could pull off having sex and getting clean all at the same time and make it last under twenty minutes? Maybe she wouldn’t have to fight with Stella after all? Sure it’ll be a challenge, but maybe-

“What are you doing?” Stella scoffs at her. Apparently Stella can feel when Tristan shifts her arm the slightest bit to grab the shampoo which is something Tristan did not know about her until this very moment. It was good to know, really.

“Showering? You know we’re in a shower after all,” Tristan says, nervousness clearing shining over her attempt at playing normal. Stella’s body tenses before she releases Tristan.

“You’re commandeering my shower?” Stella asks incredulously, her mouth agape, and her eyebrows raised. 

“No,” Tristan replies while pouring the shampoo into her hand. “We’re showering together, babe.” She doesn’t meet Stella’s eyes anymore because she already knows what she’ll find there. And she’s positive it’s something she doesn't want to find. 

“Tristan, we have FOUR other SHOWERS in this bloody flat, and you choose to STEAL mine in the MIDDLE of my shower! Why?” Stella shouts. Tristan hadn’t even thought about the fact that there were other showers in this house until Stella lays it out plainly for her to see. Looking back, that was probably a very stupid thing for Tristan to not remember. And it probably would’ve saved her a lot of time and energy considering most of her daily energy supply was about to be used up fighting with Stella. 

“I wanted to shower with you?” Tristan offers up in a child-like tone. 

“No, you wanted _this_ shower, not that I can think of a fucking reason why that is considering I was literally IN it,” Stella bolsters out, irritation clear in her spiteful tone.

“Honestly, Stella, I didn’t even think about the fact that we had more showers. My brain is malfunctioning, and I have to meet…” Tristan trails off squeezing her eyes shut. ‘ _Shit, here we go. Good going, Tristan! You are on FIRE today_.’

“You have to _meet what_?” Stella inquires darkly. Tristan doesn’t answer for a minute as she lets the water cascade around her. She doesn’t dare open her eyes. 

“I have to do something today,” Tristan admits guiltily.

“You have to do what today, darling?” Stella says calmly which Tristan understands from years of knowing Stella is not a positive sign. 

“I have to go to the park,” Tristan adds.

“You have to go to the park?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you have to go to the park?” Stella asks sweetly which makes Tristan’s insides cave in on themselves. This was a red alert for Tristan, but she didn’t have time to deal with it. She waits a moment hoping Stella will calm down. ‘ _If only you’d remembered you have five fucking showers…_ ’ she mentally berates herself.

Tristan finally opens her eyes and meets Stella’s furious gaze, and thinks she can actually see red bleeding into her normally bright blue irises. There is a smile that doesn’t match the absolute irateness that is plain on every other feature. Tristan would never tell her this, but she was genuinely terrified of her sometimes. This was definitely one of those times. 

Tristan can stand in front of millions of people to make an acceptance speech with no issues. She can go on red carpets, get trolled on the internet with hate comments, and stand up to management agencies with absolutely no fear or hesitation whatsoever. But standing in this shower with Stella looking at her like she wouldn’t be opposed to throwing Tristan into Marianas Trench? Tristan has never been more afraid in her life.

“I have to meet Harry there and hang out with him today,” Tristan rasps out, biting her lip anxiously as she waits for the fire. Stella just stares at her for what feels like an eternity before she simply walks out of the shower and grabs her towel without saying another word. Tristan exhales exasperatedly. She needs to fix that eventually, but first, she really has to shower.

Once Tristan sped through her shower and drying off process, she started to actually get ready. She decided against crazy makeup for two main reasons: she didn’t care, and even if she did, her hands were still a little shaky. She hadn’t sought out Stella yet because this was hardly their first fight, and Tristan knows better at this point. When Stella walked away, that meant Stella needed to be alone. It didn’t happen often, but when it did Tristan let her. Stella was the kind of person who needed to cool down alone, and if she didn’t get that hour to herself then round two would start. 

She threw on her clothes after finishing her minimal amount of makeup and then started brushing through her hair. She was standing in the mirror when she saw Stella crack the door and peek inside. 

“I wasn’t sure if you had left yet,” Stella says harshly, but with no raging anger in her tone. Tristan turns around to face her, hopeful that maybe they could talk it out before she left. 

“Nope, still here,” she says with a hopeful tone and small smile. Stella doesn’t smile back but doesn’t look like she wants to murder her either which is a win in Tristan’s mind.

“When are you leaving? I can walk out with you.” 

“Oh, you’re leaving, too?” Tristan asks, surprised.

“Well I’m not gonna bloody sit here alone waiting for me girlfriend to get back from her date with her boyfriend, now am I?” Stella says with her northern accent poking through again. Tristan grimaces.

“No, I wouldn’t expect that you would,” Tristan says sadly.

“But I would like to walk you out because I love you even though I’m mad at you for stealing my shower and making me believe I would get you all to myself today since we’re both off for the first time in god knows how long. That sound alright, love?” Stella states a small smile softening her.

“Yes,” Tristan gasps out happily. “I really did want to shower with you by the way. I just meant it literally, and you meant it figuratively,” Tristan says cheekily as she turns back around to focus on her hair, pressing her luck a little. 

“Don’t press your luck, Blair,” Stella calls her out, pointing an accusatory finger at her humorously. Tristan smiles as Stella backs out of the bathroom again, closing the door behind her. It’s only a few minutes later that Harry is calling Tristan saying that he’s downstairs to get her whenever she wants to come out. Tristan laughed at his use of the phrase before she could stop herself and told him that she’d be down in a second. 

“Stellz! I’m leaving if you wanna come with me!” Tristan yells loudly from the bathroom. 

“Alright, I’ll meet you by the door!” Stella yells back. Tristan smiles in the mirror before she goes, happy that maybe she'll have a moment of reprieve with Stella.

Tristan makes her way down the long hallway and spots Stella leaning against the entryway table looking far too beautiful than should be legal. She makes her way over to her and links their hands together before pressing a kiss to her jawbone. 

“I hope you’re not mad at me still because I really want to kiss you right now,” Tristan murmurs into the skin by Stella’s ear, tracing her lips upwards as she nips at her earlobe; she’s avoiding her earrings as best as she can but not well enough as the bitter taste of metal fills her mouth. 

“Still angry with you, but also want to snog you silly and take you on the couch,” Stella breathes out.

“Yeah?” Tristan lilts out quietly, her lips moving downwards on her neck, leaving a trail of kisses behind. 

“Yeah,” Stella croons out, twisting her fingers in Tristan's hair in order to pull her face up to hers. Tristan leans in and closes her eyes, longing to taste the sweetness of Stella’s mouth on her own. “Too bad you have to leave, darling,” Stella mutters just as their lips find each other. She backs away from Tristan, leaving her mouth agape and eyes lust-stricken. “Come along, don’t want to be late.”

Tristan groans aloud as she watches Stella disappear through the door before she follows closely on her heels. Stella doesn’t acknowledge Tristan again until the doors to the elevator have swung open wide. They both step inside the small room awkwardly, but when the doors shut tight behind them Stella slams Tristan against the back wall. Her one hand grips at Tristan's hair while the other roams down her lower back. She presses her soft lips against Tristan’s with desperation, opening her mouth almost immediately and drifting her tongue to get Tristan to return the favor. Tristan is caught off guard but obliges with a happy sigh. She wraps her arms around Stella’s waist, pulling her as close as she possibly can. They stay like that until they hear the faint sound of the elevator doors signifying that their time is up. 

“Still pissed at you,” Stella breathes out as she breaks off first, running her hand over Tristan’s now bitten lips to fix the lipstick smudge. She pats Tristan’s face once before she parts ways when the door opens. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Tristan mumbles under her breath. She waits a solid three minutes in the elevator just in case there is someone outside. She can’t risk them being seen together today. Once the three minutes are up, she struts out of the elevator while flattening her hair to her head. She can only imagine the way she looks after that elevator ride, but she doesn’t worry about it too much. There isn’t much she can do about it now anyway. 

She looks around the lot unfocused, hazy from the desire that Stella always leaves her with, trying desperately to remember what Harry’s car looked like. ‘ _Black? Big? SUV?_ ’ are all words that trace through Tristan’s head, but she still isn’t completely sure. It isn’t until she sees a girl with a large shock of curly blonde hair leaning on the car behind her, talking to a curly-headed boy in a Range Rover that she realizes where Harry is. She skips over quickly in the high hopes of ending whatever conversation is taking place. Any talking between those two right now is something Tristan can’t handle.

“Oh, here she is. Hey Tris. We were just talking about you, ” Harry says brightly, but there is an apologetic look in his eyes. Stella looks at her with a placating smile and fire in her deep blue irises. ‘ _Great_ ,’ Tristan moans to herself internally. 

“Yeah, Trissy!” Tristan cringes at Stella’s use of the name and the malice she can hear behind it. “H here was just telling me how he was so gutted I wouldn’t be able to make it on holiday with you two, and how he hopes I’ll change my mind!” Tristan freezes in place, all of her limbs going numb. Her line of sight was suddenly dancing with fireworks of black dots. ’ _Shit_ ,’ she moans in her head. ‘ _Shit, shit, shit,_ ’. “I, of course, told him how I wish I could, but I just can’t, seeing you were right about just how _busy_ I am. And even though we really only just met, I felt the need to share with him that me girlfriend and I actually are in a huge row right now, so going to Jamaica would be _such_ an ‘orrible move on my part, you know what I mean?” Stella boasts out as Tristan flinches slightly. Her words are calm enough to not raise suspicions to anyone who didn’t know, but Tristan knew. Stella was pissed. And Stella was already pissed, so now she could probably skin Tristan alive and feel nothing but pure joy from it. The dots which cloud Tristan’s eye line begin to dissipate, but a lasting heartbeat can be felt beneath the skin of her forehead.

“Yeah, I’m still sorry you can’t make it, Stellz. I still really hope you’ll be able to,” Tristan offers up weakly after clearing her throat. 

“Nope, can’t say I will, unfortunately. Alright, well, Harry, it was _so_ nice to see you again. Take care of our girl here for me,” Stella says eerily playful as she casually throws her arm around Tristan’s shoulders. “She’s trouble, that I can promise you.” Harry smiles awkwardly at the exchange. Tristan hopes desperately her face isn’t conveying the emotions crossing her head right now. She couldn’t be mad at him after all; he didn’t know any better.

“Always a pleasure to see you, Stella,” Harry mutters out with a still dimple-less smile searing his face. Stella hums out an answer that Tristan doesn’t hear and plants a kiss on her cheek. Tristan knows better than to think it’s a calling for a ceasefire, but she smiles for Harry’s benefit anyway.

“Will I see you later?” Tristan asks suddenly without thinking, her focus only on somehow trying to make this situation better. She realizes how much the simple question gives away so much, so she tacks on, “You were supposed to swing by for dinner and I want to make sure I have the right stuff if you are,” before anyone can think too hard into it.

“Oh god, no. Sorry love, completely forgot that I can’t tonight. Maybe tomorrow, but probably not. I’ll phone you!” She says as she walks away from Tristan and Harry towards her own car. Tristan waves at her because she doesn’t trust herself to open her mouth without the floodgates running wild. And she can’t lose it right now. 

In four hours, she can lose it. But for now, she was Harry Styles's girlfriend. She couldn’t help the fear that maybe when she got back home, that was all she would be.

# Harry

Harry parks his car in the carpark at Tristan’s apartment waiting patiently for her to come down. He picks up his phone, switching his stereo from bluetooth to an FM pop station he has as his first preset. Harry tries his hardest to never use the radio. In truth, even after five years of his life being spent as the media’s favorite womanizer and part of the world’s biggest boyband Harry still can’t get used to hearing himself sing on the radio. Watching people from afar speculate about whether or not he and Kendall were kissing those photos, or if he really had worn that suit to the Brit Awards just to impress the hot blonde interviewer was not something Harry ever really got used to. He missed the feeling of going places without worrying about if he was going to cause a scene or not. Sometimes he wishes he could just run away to an island where no one knew his name. Maybe start a bakery or a winery. 

Most days Harry really was thankful for the opportunities he had been given. He’s seen inside more hotel rooms than most people ever would in a lifetime, but he found a home in the bustling cityscapes and the soft hum of a tour bus engine. He’s stepped on every livable continent, sang for crowds that rival the size of Live Aid, and met idols that he’s had posters of since he was a child. It really was the dream life for most people. But the thing about dreams is that you get to wake up. Harry sometimes feels like he never does. 

He tugs at the bun placed lazily on the crown of his head, his hands pulling it out without even meaning to. He lets his curls cascade down his shoulders, running his fingers through it and shaking it out. He glances to his left towards the elevators, wondering how long Tristan is going to take to come down. The doors open and he’s met with a nice surprise. Stella McClain marches her way across the carpark straight towards Harry’s car. He smiles to himself sadly. He’d only met her the one time, and Harry was positive that she didn’t particularly enjoy his company. But he was pretty sure he knew why. 

He and Tristan had been standing by the wall, looking out over the event center where the charity auction for LGBTQ+ youth in California was taking place. The irony was not lost on Harry that this was a planned date for him and Tristan by the managers who were closeting both of them. The room was plush red carpets and golden glinted walls filled with people in only the highest quality name brand clothing. Not that Harry judged them for that when he was also probably considered to be one of those people because his love for Gucci clothing ran so deeply it was embedded within his personality now. 

He and Tris were talking idly about nothing, blending into the crowd as wallflowers while holding hands to sell the facade to the cameramen. He was telling her about his favorite recipe for sourdough bread when he noticed the shift in her kind but bored expression. Her eyes dilated just enough for Harry to notice it as she looked away from him and his story into the crowd. He looked along with her to see what could’ve caused the noticeable shift in Tristan’s otherwise calm mood, and he saw her. Long tanned legs, wild blonde curls, and a jawline that could cut through glass, but still had softness in it somehow. 

Harry thought she was absolutely beautiful. And it seemed by the small smile playing at Tristan’s lips, she thought so too.

The girl walked over to them with a carefree smile on her face, clutching to her champagne glass tightly. She pulled Tristan into a tight hug and whispered something in her ear that made Tristan’s eyes widen the slightest bit before controlling herself. Her cheeks also flushed the slightest bit pink, but Harry would never tell her that he noticed. The girl kissed the pink away from Tristan’s cheeks before whirling around confidently on the balls of her feet, never letting go of her hold on Tristan’s shoulders in the meantime. She stared at him with bright blue eyes that were narrowed just enough to seem a bit unwelcoming. 

“Umm Harry, this is my- uh- my best friend, Stella McClain. Stella this is Harry, my uh-,” Tristan said before getting cut off by the blonde minx. 

“Boyfriend, I know love, you’ve mentioned. It’s so proper nice to finally meet you, I’m not sure I’ve ever met someone from a boyband before,” Stella said in a surprisingly strong and very unexpected Yorkshire accent. She reached her hand out forcefully as if in a way to mark her territory. Or maybe it’s just that Harry knew the type. Tristan looked between them with an unreadable expression on her face. Harry wondered if that was how he looked when he was in her shoes because he was almost completely positive that this is the girl who was on the phone with Tristan that night at the restaurant.

“Hi, it’s so nice to meet you as well. Yeah, I’ve heard a lot about you from this one over here,” Harry lied to Stella, trying to gauge her reaction. Her eyes narrowed infinitesimally, but she didn’t press to find out. 

“Well, you two truly are a quite lovely couple, I mean truly,” Stella said cheekily while Tristan’s face reddened again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tristan stifle a laugh by puckering up her face. 

“Thank you,” Harry had said kindly, not believing she was telling the truth for one second. “It’s very nice to hear that her best friend approves.” He watched Tristan as she took a long sip of some unknown cocktail. Stella’s eyes remained snaked on Harry. There was an uncomfortable amount of tension that led to a pregnant pause in the conversation that Harry was certain they all had noticed.

“Right, well, Tristan, love, I’ll see you later. Harry, was nice meeting you. I’ll leave you lot alone to do whatever it is that straight people do together at a party,” Stella said as Tristan took another sip of her drink only to choke it out in a cough. Stella grabbed ahold of Tristan’s face gingerly and kissed her briefly on the lips before twirling away. Harry and Tristan wore matching slacked jaws and widened eyes at that one. He wasn’t hopeful that Tristan would admit to him who Stella really was to her, but he didn’t need the confirmation. When you know, you know.

Now, Harry sees her coming towards his car with smeared lipstick and hair a little too disheveled to have been done purposefully. Tristan is nowhere in sight, but he figures he can talk to Stella and try to convince her to come to Jamaica after all. He doesn’t want her to feel awkward about coming only because he was also going to be there. Harry starts to roll down his window and call to her.

“Hey Stella!” he says while waving like an idiot. Stella stops dead in her tracks looking over to him with fear plain on her face. ‘ _Maybe she doesn’t recognize me from farther away?_ ’ Harry thinks to himself, questioning the shocked expression. “It’s me, Harry Styles.” Stella’s eyes widen for a moment before a sigh of relief washes noticeably over her. She waves back but doesn’t seem to plan on stopping by to chat. “Have you seen Tristan this morning?” Harry calls after her again causing Stella to whirl back around towards him. She hurries over to the window. 

“Sorry, what?” Stella whispers hushedly in annoyance. The venom in her tone seemingly reserved for men who pretend to be her girlfriends boyfriend. He understood, so he couldn’t blame her.

“Oh, I- um- I just was wondering if you had, like, seen Tristan this morning. She’s supposed to be coming, but it’s been almost ten minutes since I called her,” Harry fumbles over his words as he starts to sweat under the intensity of Stella’s gaze. He didn’t blame her, but he was terrified of her. 

“Yeah, she’s coming down. ‘Spose she’ll be here soon enough,” Stella offers up while seeming to look for any way possible to bolt from the conversation. 

“Alright,” Harry mumbles out gracelessly, only now realizing how awkward it must have been for his beards to have these conversations. He makes a point to remember to call Kendall later and apologize for it. “So it’s too bad about Jamaica, I really wish you could come with us too because I’m sure it would make Tristan feel a lot better,” Harry mutters without thinking too much into it. The way Stella’s face drops instantly makes him wish he would’ve thought much more into it than he had originally. She stares at him in confusion with her jaw clenched and paused for what felt like a lifetime.

“What?” she finally sputters out loudly, irateness clear in the shrill of her voice and deepening of her accent. It is scary enough that he doesn’t even think about the way she sounds exactly like how Louis would’ve said it. Well, maybe he does for a second, but it’s only a second.

“Jamaica? Did she not tell you yet?” Harry squeaks out. ‘ _Oh god, no. No. This is bad. This is very not good, Harry,_ ” he mentally scolds himself.

“Oh, Jamaica! With you! Right, no she told me about it. Sorry, yeah. Can’t make it,” Stella hisses out with an out of place look of serenity painted over her features. Harry refuses to look at Stella, hoping to leave it at that, but she continues on like a horse in battle. “Actually yeah, I’m assuming she told you how busy I am during it, which she is such a little darling for doing, but in truth, it’s that me girlfriend and I got into quite the row this morning. That’s of course why I came to see her so daftly early. So I’d better not go to Jamaica with Tristan, you know what I mean?” 

Harry can’t formulate an adequate response so he merely nods. 

He looks awkwardly away from Stella to the elevators, simultaneously hoping for Tristan to come and for her to stay far away from the mess that he has probably just caused. When he sees her walk out and stumble over towards his car, he notices when the look of confusion she wears melt into one of pure fear. Harry really shouldn’t have called out to Stella. ‘ _Why is this so bloody difficult?_ ’ he groans internally.

“Oh, here she is. Hey Tris. We were just talking about you, ” Harry says in mock happiness but makes sure to look apologetically at Tristan. He just knows karma is going to get him good for this one.

“Yeah, Trissy! H here was just telling me how he was so gutted I wouldn’t be able to make it on holiday with you two, and how he hopes I’ll change my mind!” Harry grimaces at Stella’s cold admission as she continues on her bellowed rant. “I, of course, told him how I wish I could, but I just can’t, seeing you were right about just how _busy_ I am. And even though we really only just met, I felt the need to share with him that me girlfriend and I actually are in a huge row right now, so going to Jamaica would be _such_ an ‘orrible move on my part, you know what I mean?” Harry’s eyes remain on Tristan who would look completely at ease except for the pallor of her cheeks. Harry realizes at that moment exactly why Tristan deserves the accolades she has earned. If Harry were in Tristan’s positions, he would have already stormed off or started crying, while Tristan has remained completely silent and utterly still. 

“Yeah, I’m still sorry you can’t make it, Stellz. I still really hope you’ll be able to,” Tristan squeaks out with a tight voice. Harry looks down guiltily. This is not what should be happening at all, and it was all because of him. He felt a hole in his chest opening up to let Tristan’s emotions run deep within him. 

“Nope, can’t say I will, unfortunately. Alright, well, Harry, it was _so_ nice to see you again. Take care of our girl here for me,” Stella says as she awkwardly throws Tristan into a loose embrace. “She’s trouble, that I can promise you.” Harry tries to smile, but it feels more like a grimace. 

“Always a pleasure to see you, Stella,” Harry mutters. Stella might say something back to him, but he doesn’t hear it if she does. 

“Will I see you later?” Tristan asks Stella lowly with fear on her face as she falters on the pretense of best-friends they have seemingly so carefully crafted after being together for who knows how long at this point. She continues on though, seeming to realize her mistake much quicker than Harry would have. “You were supposed to swing by for dinner and I want to make sure I have the right stuff if you are.”

“Oh god, no. Sorry love, completely forgot that I can’t tonight. Maybe tomorrow, but probably not. I’ll phone you!” Harry grimaces painfully at Stella’s biting, subliminal admission of anger. He watches Tristan’s face falter only for a moment, bitten lips, and shallow breaths replacing her confident exterior. Her recovery time is spectacular and sad as not even a blink can pass before Tristan’s face has returned to neutral and she robotically heads to take her place in the passenger seat of Harry’s car. 

“I’m so sorry if I caused that spat,” Harry says after she settles in her seat. Her eyes flash and her head begins to hang. Harry is worried she might start to cry, but she doesn’t. She only takes a single beat of composure before she answers him.

“What spat?” she questions with a smile.

“Tris…” Harry begins.

“That wasn’t a fight between me and Stella. She’s in a fight with her _girlfriend_ ,” Tristan says with hints of indignation and anger coloring her tone. Her eyes were wild in a way that Harry had never seen. “Which I am not because I am straight,” she whispers towards the window, too quiet to be meant for Harry to hear it. He wasn’t positive, but this might be one of the worst moments of his life. Tristan acting for Harry who can’t tell her that he knew better. That he understood. 

For a split second, Harry considers doing it. Telling her everything, all of the gory details. He should tell her. Let her be mad at him. He doesn’t though. And the reason is one of the most selfish justifications he can muster: he can’t talk about Louis yet. He can’t even think about what happened between them without breaking in half. When he can- if he can- he will. But that time isn’t now. He has an idea that might let her vent though, so he sticks to that plan instead. 

“She said that she came over to yours this morning to talk about her fight with her girlfriend. Do you want to talk about that? I know dealing with other people’s relationship drama can be, um, difficult?” Harry offers up, softening his face as much as possible in his hardest attempt to open Tristan Blair up. She swallows hard as she stares back at him with a detached gaze. 

“They got in a fight because her girlfriend stole her shower this morning,” Tristan sighs out a little shakily. Harry stares in confusion.

“Her… shower?” Harry asks, making sure he heard that right. 

“Yes. She got mad because her stupid girlfriend commandeered her stupid shower on accident, and I would’ve told her that her girlfriend was probably very sorry and just an idiot, but I can’t do that because Stella is very stubborn, and she always thinks the worst of people. Like no one would ever PURPOSEFULLY steal a shower, you know? But with Stella, she thinks it would be that way. But yeah. And then I told her about Jamaica and I was right. She was busy and apparently didn’t want to… she wanted to work it out with her girlfriend. Which I guess means staying away from her best friend,” Tristan finishes with a sharp inhalation after speaking with a speed that not even NASA could log. Her eyes widen as she realizes the monologue she just gave was rather incriminating, but Harry doesn’t say anything. 

“I’m sorry for the girlfriend,” Harry whispers while looking away from Tristan and putting the car in drive. Tristan doesn’t speak for a minute as they pull out of the carpark.

“I’m sorry for Stella,” Tristan finally says. They drive the rest of the way in silence. It isn’t until they get to the park almost twenty minutes later that Tristan pipes up again. 

“I’m really sorry for that show back there, H. Stella really isn’t, like… she’s normally very nice. Not that she was mean or anything, but she’s just in a bad mood because of her fight with her girlfriend and stuff,” Tristan mumbles sadly. Harry realizes then exactly how much Tristan must love her. She’s defending her to Harry even after Stella’s quiet explosion which Harry can only commend and not exactly relate to. He wishes he could though. 

“I think she is lovely, truly. I hope she and her girlfriend, um, work it out soon. I know what it feels like to be… I just, I know what it’s like,” Harry says thickly.

“They will. They always do,” she says with a small smile as she pushes the car door open and hops out clumsily. 

They walk through the flora of the park casually. The paparazzi are there making sure their every move is photographed, but they both play their parts well. Strolling hand in hand, they could pass as a proper couple. Tristan’s smile could be mistaken as genuine if Harry didn’t know what took place only an hour before. She seems completely carefree as she tugs on Harry’s arm to show him a bumblebee pollinating a flower. Utterly at ease as she twirls herself under his arm like a slow dance to a song made in her own head. 

Tristan Blair deserves every bit of the academy award she received. 

After another hour and an impromptu picnic of veggie hotdogs that California street vendors apparently are known for, the paparazzi finally decide they have enough shots of the happy couple. They pack up and leave like a herd of prairie dogs, and Tristan and Harry are left to their own devices. Tristan still doesn’t let go of his hand as they walk alone by the pond idly. 

“You know, H, I just realized something,” she says softly as she kicks at a stray rock on the pavement.

“What’s that?” 

“You never answered my question that day in the restaurant. Your media training must have been insane to get by me because I’ve been doing this shit since I was practically in diapers,” she says as she laughs lightly. Harry puckers his face in confusion.

“What question?” Harry asks, having honestly no idea what she is talking about.

“Your life story, rockstar,” she sighs out dramatically. Harry freezes.

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.”

“Um… I mean, my name is Harry, I worked in a bakery, I was in a band- I guess technically still am in a band- called One Direction. I’m six feet tall. I’m from Cheshire like the cat from Alice in Wonderland. I like romantic comedies-” Harry rambles until Tristan cuts him off. 

“You dated Taylor Swift.” Harry swallows harshly. 

“Yes, I did,” he mutters, looking away.

“How long did you date?” Tristan asks curiously.

“Um, about two months? I think? I’m not sure that was a long time ago,” Harry explains half-heartedly. Tristan steers them to the grassy patch between the pond and the pavement. Still holding his hand, she sits down on the grass and tugs him down along with her. 

“Was it real?” Harry looks down at their still grasped hands until he answers her.

“No.” 

“Figured,” Tristan nods. Harry nods back grasping uncomfortably with his free hand at his hair that was causing him to sweat in the miserable heat of California. Tristan opens her mouth to speak again, but Harry cuts her off.

“I dated Kendall, too. Kendall Jenner. If that was gonna be your next question,” Harry says with a half smile. Tristan grins back at him sheepishly.

“You caught me,” she mutters through smiling lips. “Was that one…” 

“No, no. Kendall is uh-” ‘dating Bella Hadid right now’ Harry thinks to himself with a private laugh. “Kendall is just a very close friend. Still good friends to this day, yeah,” Harry drawled out.

“So which one was real then?” she asks after a pause. She doesn’t meet Harry’s gaze.

“What?” 

“You say that you understand love and act like you’ve been in a serious relationship, so which one was it?” Tristan asks, on the attack. Harry goes numb. ‘ _Now is the time to tell her. You trust her, make her understand that she can trust you_ ’ Harry peps himself up. ‘ _You can do this, you can talk about it, she deserves the truth_ ’ He opens his mouth to answer, but no words come out. His jaw clenches with a tight clenching noise as he looks down to tug at the soft blades of grass that tickle at his knuckles. 

“It’s hard to-” Harry begins before realizing that he was interrupting whatever Tristan was in the middle of saying. He really didn’t even notice she was speaking until he heard the only two words that can break him out of any trance. 

“... Louis Tomlinson?” Tristan says innocently.

“What?” Harry says almost half choked, realizing the first part of whatever she said is the most important part.

“I said, isn't that your bandmate over there? Louis Tomlinson?” Tristan repeats with confusion creeping over her face as she points towards a bench that sits approximately fifty meters behind them. Harry’s palms start to sweat as his heart begins to race. He rips his hand from Tristan’s like a reflex. She looks at him in complete bewilderment. “Um alright,” she says looking pointedly at her hand still lingering in a grasped position on the grass. “Hello? Are you okay?” she laughs out. 

“Just haven’t seen him since we all ended the band. I mean, shit, went on hiatus and stuff,” Harry stutters, his brain on autopilot. There he was sitting there, so close but so distant. Harry was sure he hadn’t seen him yet because he wouldn’t be sitting there so calmly if he had. Harry watches as he licks off an ice cream cone alone on the bench. 

Harry didn’t even know he was in LA. It’s with a pang that Harry realizes that he has no reason to know that he is in LA. Knowing someone’s location at all times is a luxury only people who are friends can afford. Harry strains himself attempting the exceedingly difficult task of seeming carefree about the situation. He flutters back around toward Tristan, ripping his eyes away from Louis with far too much difficulty.

“Aren't you gonna go say hi or something? I thought all of you guys were, like, best friends and stuff,” Tristan says, still obviously confused by Harry’s demeanor. Harry wants to be candid with her, tell her that he really shouldn't go talk to him. But selfishly, he wants to use her as an excuse. Tell everyone he had to talk to Louis because he had to sell the act to Tristan. Not because he feels so empty without hearing Louis’s voice that he may genuinely wither away to nothing soon if he doesn't hear it. No, just because of a very ill-timed beard date. He turns back around toward Louis because if he was already going to feel the pain of this later, he might as well get everything out of it that he could.

He doesn't have any time to answer her before Louis sees him. Their eyes meet, widening in surprise, and then crumbling in the pain of what was. What could’ve been. They look the same as they always had. Harry had the same long curls, the same dimples, the same tattoos. Louis had the same perfect cheekbones, the same ocean blue eyes, the same tattoos that corresponded to his own. To the world, it was all the same.

Yet they weren’t the same at all. 

Louis’s tongue freezes on the ice cream that sits atop his waffle cone in shock. There are large drips that Harry can see all the way from where he sat running down Louis’s hand, but Louis made no move to wipe them away. He remained unmoving, a statue of an angel on an unsuspecting park bench. The world around Harry moved in slow motion as his stomach churned out a familiar, albeit distant, feeling of knife twists and butterflies. 

“Harry hello, are you actually okay?” Tristan says with concern and irritation bleeding together. 

“What? Sorry,” Harry replies, once again subliminally admitting to not being able to listen while under the spell of Louis Tomlinson. Harry breaks the eye contact, but he can still feel the piercing blue eyes staring at him. 

“Are you going to introduce me to your friend or what?” Tristan asks with a spark of aggression resounding in her voice. Harry’s heart begins to accelerate as he runs through the scenario in his head. He could talk to Louis. He could see him in real life, hear his voice without it being muffled through the speaker of a pre-recorded message system. And it would keep Tristan from knowing anything was out of the ordinary. Louis wouldn’t expose them in front of Tristan. He makes his decision easily, disregarding the nagging knowledge that this was a bad idea. 

“Um, yeah, you know what, sure. Let’s, um, let’s go say hi,” Harry says with mock casualty. His heart was a battering ram, and his palms were a fountain, but he weaves his hand and Tristan’s as he watches Louis’s eyes grow somehow even wider. They stand up and make their way over the park bench. Harry watches as Louis’s eyes flash in panic over towards the ice cream stand where he must have bought his cone. Harry’s eyes follow Louis’s to a man that Harry doesn’t recognize which is when Harry’s willpower starts to crumble. 

He’s tall, at least three inches taller than Harry, with wavy hair that flows like a caramel fountain to his shoulders. Harry wouldn’t have found the sight to be out of place except for the shirt that the mystery man is wearing is one he has been looking for since Louis had moved out of their house in Hampstead. A limited edition Live Aid memorabilia shirt that was a little oversized on Harry but fit this wanker snugly. Apparently Louis has a type. He pulls Tristan to a stop and tries turning her around. “Um actually maybe not, he looks kind of busy.”

“He’s staring right at us doing nothing but eating an ice cream cone, why would we not go say hi?” Tristan asks bewildered, craning her neck to get her view of Louis’s face back into her line of sight. 

“It’s complicated,” Harry says strained. His throat was dry so his words cracked. Tristan stares at him as though he has lost his mind. In her defense, he was starting to feel as though he had. 

“So you guys aren’t friends?” Tristan asks, perplexed.

“Not exactly, no,” Harry manages to growl out as he watches Louis’s face grow more and more indignant. The wanker in Harry’s shirt goes and sits where Harry should be sitting. He seems completely unaware of the situation at hand. Harry can only stand and watch as the love of his life- the love that left him- flirts with another man right in front of his face. 

“I’m confused here, H,” Tristan says with concern and puzzlement. 

“I’m actually not feeling well. Let’s go. Please,” Harry says tightly. He flashes his eyes one more time to Louis who seems to only have eyes for the dickhead in his shirt, not paying Harry or Tristan one more single flickering glance. _His shirt._ Tristan only nods her head before Harry’s hand snakes around her back, ushering her to the car. He’s not sure how to process what has just taken place, but he knows one thing for sure: he can’t tell Tristan about it yet. If today’s events mean nothing else, it’s proven to him that he isn’t strong enough yet. After a few more minutes, and a few hundred meters between him and Louis, they finally reach the car. They both hop in silently, neither willing to meet the other’s eyes. ‘ _Maybe she already knows. Maybe she figured it out the same as you did. Maybe you should tell her at least a little bit_ ,’ Harry thinks to himself idly already knowing that he won’t.

Tristan’s eyes are trained on him the entire ride back to her apartment, but she doesn’t say anything further. Harry doesn’t work up the courage to talk about, so he doesn’t offer up the subject. He parks in another random spot, waiting for Tristan to get out, but she doesn’t. She just sits there in contemplation. Harry’s stomach is in knots as he waits for her to say it. 

But she doesn’t. 

She flings open her door, hopping out lightly. Harry watches in wait, teeth clenched. She stares at him through the windshield for a moment before coming to his side of the car and flinging open his door as well. Harry doesn’t look at her, but sighs deflated, and waits for her to speak.

“So are you going to come in or not?” is all she asks.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to Hanna and Jen for being the best best betas ever <3 
> 
> This is another little longer chapter but hopefully you guys enjoy it!! Also please give me any feedback you guys can, I'm open to all sorts of criticism or comments :)
> 
> *This is, as always, a work of fiction!!*

# Tristan

Tristan trains her eyes on her phone screen while the elevator whirls slowly upwards to her penthouse apartment. Harry fidgets nervously beside her, but Tristan pays him no mind. When the elevator signifies that they’ve made it to her floor, Tristan slowly looks over to Harry expectantly. He begins to shift under the silent gaze, but he clears his throat and walks out into the hallway that leads directly into their spacious living room. He looks everything over with raised eyebrows as Tristan walks out next to him.

“Shit, when you said you lived in a penthouse, I was expecting something like Princess Park. How much is this place worth?” Harry says aghast. 

“I’m not sure honestly. I think upwards of thirty,” Tristan rolls out nonchalantly while shrugging her shoulders. 

“Jesus Christ,” Harry mumbles under his breath as he goes to look over the Los Angeles skyline from the floor to ceiling windows that cover the back wall. 

“Matthew Perry used to live here if you like _Friends_ or anything,” Tristan notes listlessly, not expecting much of a reaction. When Harry whirls around as if he had been electrocuted, she jumps back a little in shock. 

“Chandler Bing used to live here?” Harry shouts. Tristan lets out a bewildered laugh.

“I take it you’re a fan,” she mumbles out, eyes still wide. They pause for a moment as Harry looks around the room with an awestruck face like she had just told him Jesus was born here. “Do you want a tour of the rest of the house?” she asks before she witnesses an absolute Harry fangirl moment. 

“Yeah! I mean, yes. Please,” Harry mutters out with excited chagrin. 

“Okay, uh, just follow me,” Tristan says as she leads him around the penthouse. Harry “Ooo’s” and “Ahh’s” when she shows him the four patios. He goes slack-jawed when she points out her bedroom which features floor to ceiling views of the ocean instead of the city. He falls completely silent when she reveals her elaborately decorated movie room. His silence mainly comes from seeing her Oscar Statue in the flesh. It’s so adorably childlike that Tristan even lets him hold it and pretend to give a speech. She purposefully skips the room where she and Stella keep their insane amount of erotic art which features mainly women on women. She normally wouldn’t care to show it off, but given the current situation and the fact that they recently had one created of one of their own photos, Tristan decides against it. As they make their way back to the living room, Tristan notices that Harry seems much more relaxed now than he had on the ride up to the apartment. 

She figures now is as good a time as any.

“Alright, so, do I need to ask what that was about at the park or are you gonna go ahead and tell me?” Tristan asks expectantly. Harry’s eyes flash nervously to her, all hints of relaxation gone. 

“No,” Harry frowns out.

“No…” Tristan trails off as she watches Harry look at the floor. “No as in I don’t need to ask or as in you’re not gonna tell me?” Tristan continues on.

“No, as in there isn’t anything to tell,” Harry says under his breath. 

“Oh, right, okay. I see. So do you have a habit of turning green in front of your old bandmates for fun?” Tristan pokes. 

“We just don’t really get along, Louis and I,” Harry winces as he says it. 

Tristan makes a humming sound to satisfy Harry before she offers to make him a cocktail while he waits on the balcony. He gladly accepts, and Tristan can’t help but think he would’ve accepted any chance to get away from her at that moment. She walks slowly to the bar in the movie room, waiting to hear the door to the terrace close securely before she begins searching. 

She takes to her stan twitter first because if she knows anything about the internet, she knows that stan twitter will know whatever the fuck was going on with Harry and Louis today. Tristan’s account has roughly two hundred mutuals on it- none of whom expect her true identity as far as she can tell- and about eight hundred followers, so she tweets out cryptically “ _What is with Harry Styles and that Louis Tomlinson guy?_ ” and waits for a reply. 

It’s not even twenty seconds later that she has five replies with different Tumblr links and incredulous “ _You mean you don’t know!?!?_ ” messages. She rolls her eyes at their dramatics and clicks the links. She stares at her phone in absolute disbelief at what she has just pulled up. 

“ _Larry Stylinson is Real!_ ”, “ _Larry is Love, Larry is Life_ ”, “ _We <3 our Larents <3_”, and “ _Larry Proof Depot_ ” are all staring her in the face one right after another. She sticks with the last page she pulls up mainly for time purposes and starts to scroll. The first post she sees is an anonymous ask box question about why the owner of the account is so sure Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson are in love. Tristan reads through the entire post- which is extremely long, to say the least- and drops her phone when she’s done. 

She feels like she is floating. Nothing makes sense. Harry Styles, her Harry Styles, is in love with Louis Tomlinson? A male? Harry Styles isn’t straight? Her brain can’t function correctly anymore, so she goes on autopilot to fix their drinks. Two vodka sodas are all Tristan can manage to make. She puts at least two extra shots into hers, grabs her phone, and walks with drinks in hand out to the terrace. She’s coming up empty on what she is going to say to Harry once she gets there.

“I was afraid the ghost of Chandler Bing had gotten- hey are you okay?” Harry says with cheer fading into concern as he watches Tristan emerge from the house still a little slack-jawed.

“Yeah, sorry. Here’s your drink,” she says robotically as she hands Harry the vodka soda with less vodka. 

“I really like this terrace, it’s really-”

“I know about Larry Stylinson. I just read two Tumblr masterposts on it,” Tristan rushes out, cutting Harry off in an accidental shout. Harry’s eyes go round and his mouth opens with the unsaid words about the terrace. 

“What?” he asks, choked.

“Is it true? You and Louis are dating?” Tristan asks breathlessly. She’s kicking herself for not doing this better, but there was no way this was going to be easy. “It’s fine if you are, by the way. I don’t mind, I’m just… I mean… I’m a little, like, shocked. There was a _lot_ of stuff on that post. Like, a lot.” Harry just continues to stare at her. 

“I-” Harry begins again before getting cut off by Tristan once more.

“God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m so sorry, you don’t have to tell me anything. I’m sure it’s not true. Fans are, I mean, like, fans are crazy sometimes. They see connections where there aren’t any, and-” 

“Tris?” Harry says slowly. Tristan’s heart races. “Deep breath, please.” Tristan closes her mouth and does as he asks. “Better?” he laughs out lightly, but the sound is still a little strangled.

They sit in awkward silence as Tristan continues her breathing exercises, and Harry stares out at the view. 

“I’m not dating Louis Tomlinson,” he states sadly, never meeting Tristan’s face. 

“I’m sorry I said anything. I mean, of course, you’re not, god, I feel like an idiot.” Tristan shoves her face into her hands. 

“I’m not dating Louis Tomlinson _anymore_ ,” Harry adds in one word and Tristan is spiraling again.

“Oh my god,” Tristan gasps. It’s true. It was true. She can’t do anything but stare at him and hope he continues. He takes a deep breath. “I should’ve told you. I know that I should’ve told you. You’re my first, you know, beard that I haven’t been able to tell. I really couldn’t though. And it had nothing to do with contracts or the lack of NDAs. I trust you. I just couldn’t- like- I couldn’t talk about it. I’m still not really prepared to talk about it because the breakup-” Harry pauses, flinching noticeably on that sentiment, “- the, uh, it was, like, recent, so I’m still… processing it.”

“And you saw him today,” Tristan whimpered out, the realization of the impact of today’s events just dawning on her. 

“Yes. We did see him today,” Harry laments dejectedly, seemingly in a headspace far away from the current terrace where they sat. 

“How long did you two?” Tristan asks half of the question, not truly knowing how to finish it. 

“Five years,” Harry says as he rests his chin in his hand. Tristan’s breath catches. ‘ _You should tell him. He told you. You owe it to him_ ,’ she thinks as she chews idly on her thumb nail. 

“That’s a long time,” Tristan remarks weakly as she takes a long sip of her vodka soda.

“Yeah,” Harry mumbles with his face peering out over the city, but his eyes viewing something much farther away than that. “How long have you been with Stella?” He asks so casually Tristan almost doesn’t register anything is wrong with the question. Her brain catches up with her though, and she chokes on her drink. As she is coughing and spluttering everywhere, Harry turns to look at her. His face at first doesn’t seem to realize that anything he’s said was out of place. Just a conversation between beards. But he soon realizes, must like Tristan did, that the information he just offhandedly alluded to was not something of public record between them.

“What?” Tristan finally manages to sputter out after Harry embarrassingly patted her on the back like he was burping an infant. 

“Sorry, god, I didn’t mean to. I just, I figured it out a while ago,” Harry admits fearfully.

“How long is a while?” Tristan shouts. Harry doesn’t answer automatically, so she glowers at him until he gives her what she wants. 

“I figured it out at the restaurant. Well not that you were with Stella, but that I was a beard for you. It just, like, didn’t add up. You didn’t need publicity, and you haven’t made any indication that you wanted to get into music, so I just assumed,” Harry drawls out slowly, picking his words carefully. Tristan isn’t sure how to react so she takes a moment to steady herself. She thinks back over every conversation she and Harry have ever had. ‘ _He is much more observant than you EVER gave him credit for_ ,’ Tristan slides the thought into her vault about Harry Styles. 

“That’s why you wanted her to go to Jamaica so bad this morning,” Tristan sighs out, thankful that the exchange finally made the least bit of sense to her. 

“Yeah, I thought you just didn’t want her to go because of me not knowing. Or because of me in general, I guess. I really do like her by the way,” Harry paces out, the melting butter voice making its way back to the center stage. 

“She hates you,” Tristan giggles even though the words don’t exactly match the reaction. Harry must understand though because instead of looking angry, he smiles.

“Figured that out for myself, actually. She doesn’t really try to hide it,” Harry says relaxed, a giggle threatening to burst out of his mouth. Tristan watches him closely for any signs of anger, but none of them come. “It comes with the territory. You never like the beards.” Tristan’s smile falters just a little.

“I’ve never had to deal with that,” she confesses. Harry doesn’t speak but quirks an eyebrow up in question. Tristan takes a deep breath before she continues. “Stella and I made a pact four years ago, about a year after we started dating, that we were gonna say ‘fuck it’ and get papped making out or something. Or like get caught kissing at some random crowded restaurant in broad daylight, and then just circulate the pictures on twitter. We had a whole plan…” Tristan trails off wistfully. She looks at Harry for the first time since her story began flowing from deep inside her. His unwavering gaze is fixed straight through Tristan’s bared soul. He nods to signify his intent on hearing the rest of her story which Tristan doesn’t need the reassurance of, but accepts anyway. She clears her throat and continues on. “We had a scheme that we were going to pull. We were only sixteen at the time so we were still bright and starry-eyed. It was us against the world, or I guess more accurately us against the industry, but we didn’t care. 

“We’d lay in bed and talk about it every night. How it was going to be to hold hands during red carpet premieres or kiss under the light of the sun in the middle of a flower shop. It was the dumb stuff that you don’t realize you want until you can’t have it. God, all I wanted to do back then was grab Stella’s fucking hand in public without it going viral on social media. But we didn’t. We couldn’t. I think we knew the plan was stupid, but we wanted it so bad that we would do anything.

“We both talked to our managers and our publicists. They all taunted us with legalities and marketing tools. They told us that we were both in a phase and we would grow out of it. They told me my entire career would turn upside down. They wouldn’t put my name out for casting calls or answer the phone if a producer came calling. I would get written off the show. They didn’t care about the things I had to offer them; they cared about their fucking bottom line and nothing else. And I tried to fight it, as I’m sure you can imagine, and you know what they told me? They said ‘Trissy, sweetheart, you’re a lamb in a lion’s den and we don’t feel like you understand that.’ They made me feel like nothing. Like everything was right in my grasp, and they would take it away from me. 

“Stella’s team was similar, but nowhere near as controlling. They weren’t surprised when the video of her saying she was gay surfaced. They were pissed when they found out she leaked it herself, but there wasn’t much they could do at that point. They accepted it and moved on. Stella was out. She still got jobs, still was a model. It helped that Cara Delevingne came out pretty soon after she did because then Stella wasn’t as big of a story anymore. But my team watched me like a hawk. They searched through my phone for any videos that could be leaked and had an escape plan if they missed one, and I decided to act out. They forced my hand.

“Stella was pissed, to say the least. Not at me, I don’t think, but just in general. She started getting a lot of mixed reactions online. There were the pervs who wanted a sex tape from her which of course got reported considering she was still a minor. There were the homophobes who called her shit names and told her she would burn in hell. But she endured it, and I think she was happy to be out. And we always talk about me doing it, just saying fuck you to all the people that have told me I can’t, but it’s different. Not in a conceited way, but Stella coming out blew over quickly. She’s famous, but she’s lowkey in a way that I’m not. It would be much harder for me to come out unscathed if I did what she did, and she knows that.

“It doesn’t stop her though from hating the beards I have, though. It’s truly nothing personal to you because you might be the first that has understood that my being a lesbian isn’t something you can cure with your dick. I thank you immensely for that by the way. But I mean I guess I can’t understand the pain she feels because I never had to, like, go through it. Stella’s never had a public relationship since she came out. That’s been semi-problematic for us though because the dedicated fans of ours, like, know. You know? Like Stella not having a girlfriend ever, and all the times we do get caught, they catch on. You’re not the only one around here with a masterpost on Tumblr about your gay relationship that you’re trying to keep a secret. Yours is a lot longer than mine, though, I will say that,” Tristan finishes, laughing lightly and looking away from Harry. 

From up here, the city looks so vast but so barren. As the sun fades the sky to dull oranges and feisty pinks, the buildings become a forefronted backdrop. An affront to the natural beauty of the place. It’s easy, though, for Tristan to imagine that she was the last one in Los Angeles. That everyone else has disappeared, taking her problems and life story with them. It’s a dark fantasy, but Tristan doesn’t find it intrusive. She finds it almost inviting. 

As the moments linger on, Harry doesn’t seem inclined to speak. Tristan finally tears herself away from the view in order to look him fully in the face. She isn’t sure how long he has sat there staring at her, but she doesn’t shrink under it. It doesn’t seem to be a glare filled with malice, but one of respect, solitude. She realizes that Harry really doesn’t need to speak. She knows with the unspoken words and silent gaze that he understands it. He knows the situation because it’s his situation, too. 

“I’m sorry that was a long story,” Tristan mumbles with a chuckle before downing the final sips of her drink. 

“You didn’t deserve that,” Harry says with a shakiness in his voice that stirs Tristan deep inside. 

“What do you mean?” she asks gingerly, trying to cultivate the new airiness she intends on forcing in the conversation. 

“What they did to you. What they said to you. You didn’t deserve that,” Harry says with a ring of finality that makes Tristan fear him slightly for the first time. Harry had never been more than a kind puppy-like creature while she’d been around. This was as if he had metamorphosed into something greater. 

“None of us do,” Tristan says with a shrug.

“Why do we just let them?” Harry asks seriously.

“Because they can,” Tristan says with a shake of her head and a roll of her eyes. “Stella got lucky, but I don’t think many of us would.”

“No, we wouldn’t,” Harry says with knowledge shining through the seemingly hypothetical point he was making. 

“It sucks, though,” Tristan sighs out with a half smile.

“Understatement,” Harry says with raised eyebrows and widening eyes. 

The conversation stalls, but it’s not a daunting silence. Both of them lost in the tragedies that have become them. Tristan usually tries her best not to dwell on the what-ifs and could-haves of her life, but at this moment, she allows herself to. She remembers the fire that reached all the way to her toes when they told her she was a lamb playing a lion’s game. As if she was some harmless creature destined only to bumble about hoping she wouldn’t get eaten alive. She remembers the stilted, half conversations with her parents about her sexuality; the way she felt when they told her they agreed with whatever the PR team told her to do. She remembers telling Stella every year that this year would be their year, even though every year she knew she was lying. 

She isn’t sure when she starts to cry, but she’s aware it’s happening when the salty tears leak into her mouth. She rubs her face quietly, hoping that Harry didn’t see it. There was nothing Tristan hated more than for others to see her crying in real life. She looks over at Harry thankful in a way that he is still seemingly stuck in his own head, thinking of situations she can only imagine, but that probably mirror ones of her own. She clears her throat once to get his attention.

“So, you like rom-coms?” she asks with a dreary smile. He matches it with one of his own.

# Harry

“Why do we just let them?” Harry asks, his ire at their situations flaring. Tristan looks at him with worn eyes that no young adult should have. 

“Because they can,” Tristan says as if there is no more reason necessary. To be fair, there really wasn’t. “Stella got lucky, but I don’t think many of us would.”

“No, we wouldn’t,” Harry says with distant memories filling the focal point of his mind. 

“It sucks, though.”

“Understatement,” Harry puckers out. It was true, it was an understatement. He glances over at Tristan who looks out over the faded sky and wonders just how much this girl has seen. What has she done? Exactly how far did she try to push? Harry knows that she is brave- he’s seen it with his own eyes- but how far did that bravery extend? 

‘ _You could ask yourself the same question_ ,’ he thinks to himself idly. It wasn’t as if he and Louis didn’t even think about coming out; risking it all for the love they had. But being told time and time again that they were idiots for thinking that the love they had would be more important to them than their careers made them think twice about it every time they tried to pull a major stunt at first. And then, after a few years and a few missteps, they realized that their relationship was more important to them. By that point, it was too late. The label and the managers outmaneuvered them at every step. It felt like for every move Harry and Louis made forward, they would get pushed three steps back. People around them started to get hurt. The people they loved started getting threatened. It was too much for them to consider doing what Stella did. 

Selfishly though, sometimes Harry wishes they hadn’t cared. That may be right now he would be wearing his Live Aid shirt in their kitchen singing to songs no one else liked, flour covering their faces with pancakes burning on the stove. Harry heaves a sigh and pushes the thought away. He hears a small sniffle followed by a cough from close by and turns slowly to look at Tristan. The red rims of her eyes let him know she has been crying, but he won’t bring it up. 

“So,” she sighs out slowly, “you like rom-coms?” she asks with a hint of a wilted smile. Harry smiles back slowly in acknowledgment. 

“Is that an offer to watch one, or is that another round of twenty questions starting?” Harry asks cheekily.

“Which one of those things would you rather it be?” Tristan launches back, regaining a semblance of the person Harry had gotten used to her being. 

“Maybe both at the same time. I think it’s all out on the table between us at this point,” he chirps with a relaxed smile. Tristan sputters back a single quiet laugh, nodding in agreeance. 

They stand up to walk back inside when it dawns on Harry that Tristan hasn’t once brought up her fight with Stella from earlier. The fight that he knows he caused, even if Tristan wouldn’t tell him that directly. He thinks for a moment that he should bring it up, apologize for his missteps, but he decides against it. 

“I’m gonna go fix myself another drink,” Tristan says pointedly while leading Harry to the large gray couch in the center of the room. “Oh, and it’s an Apple TV so you can pick the movie. The remotes are over there,” she instructed, gesturing towards the contemporary end table that Harry considers acquiring for his own home. 

“Okay,” he notes as he bobbles over to pick up the remotes. He relaxes into the soft cushions next to the table, his hand trailing over the different buttons. He hears the clicks of Tristan’s shoes reverb off of the marbled floor of the hallway until they abruptly stop. He trails his eyes towards where the sound should be coming from.

“Oh, and H?” Tristan calls out, her voice echoing slightly throughout the room.

“Yeah?” 

“Please make sure I’m not in whatever you’re about to pick,” Tristan calls back seriously causing Harry’s laugh to fill up the silence. 

He ends up choosing the classic _When Harry Met Sally_ partly because he likes it, but mainly because it was made years before Tristan was born so there would be no chance of some sort of appearance. The opening credits begin to roll as Tristan walks back into the room with two very large glasses of wine which Harry hopes one at least is for him. She sets them down on the coffee table in between the couch that Harry sat and the chair that Tristan plops down into. He downs the remaining sips of his vodka soda before reaching for the wine glass slowly. 

“Go ahead, rockstar, I got it for you. You don’t have to try and sneak it away,” she chuckles out. There is a hint of gloominess behind it which Harry notices immediately. 

“You alright?” he inquires earnestly. 

“What? Oh yeah, no, I’m fine,” she answers back, smiling completely at ease. Harry isn’t fooled. 

“I know you’re a fairly great actress,” Harry begins, causing Tristan’s eyebrows to shoot up inquisitively, “but I’m not really buying that. You know you can talk to me right?”

“I just… I feel like… Fuck it. I’ll just say it. Why did you and Louis break up?” she asks with her eyes burning into Harry’s. Harry feels the wind escape his lungs in a rush like he had been punched in the stomach. He takes a moment to compose himself.

“Reading Tumblr blogs while making drinks again?” Harry shoots back, not meaning to sound as biting as he does.

“If I say yes, will you get mad at me?” she presses with a small smile. Harry can’t find it in him to return the sentiment, but he isn’t angry with her. He would be curious too.

“Not mad, no. But you do know I’ll tell you about it if you ask and I feel comfortable answering, so I don’t know why you need to,” Harry adds ardently. 

“I just don’t even know where to start with the questions honestly. Like you two were in a band together,” Tristan begins before Harry intercepts.

“Are. Are in a band together.”

“Right, right, you _are_ in a band together. So, like, how did it start?” she implores. 

“What do you mean?” Harry wonders back. “I’ll answer, I just don’t exactly understand. It’s a broad question.” Tristan sighs in return, her face scrunching into consideration.

“I guess, like… Okay, so I had never been with a girl before Stella. I wasn’t even sure that I even liked girls before her, you know? So I guess my question is was it like that for you, too?” she asks passionately. Harry doesn’t answer immediately; his memories of the butterflies and the uncertainty during his and Louis’s first few weeks together replaying in his head. “If this is uncomfortable, you don’t have to answer,” she says after 

“No, I told you I would answer,” Harry murmurs. “I think I knew before him that I liked men. Not exclusively because I did have a girlfriend before him, but I had found Leonardo pretty attractive the first time I ever saw _Titanic_ ,” Harry chuckles out, his eyes never leaving his drink. “But I think, uh- I mean- I don’t know if he had ever thought about before we happened, honestly.” Harry glances up softly to find Tristan burning a hole in him with her eyes. He can see the unaskable questions building behind her honey-brown irises. 

“You said the breakup was recent,” she states simply, her eyes still boring into Harry’s. 

“Yes, I did,” he acquiesces. Harry heaves a sigh when Tristan doesn’t continue speaking but still remains staring. “It was-” Harry begins just before being timely cut off by a loud vibration. He stares pointedly down at the phone on the table in front of him while Tristan pulls out her own phone as well. Harry reaches for the phone and pulls it to himself, reveling in the same unknown number that has called him once a week like clockwork since that day at the restaurant. He’s never answered it before- and never intended to- but if it got him out finishing the thought, he might just change his mind. “Sorry, I have to take this.”

Tristan only glances up at him with her mouth open, poised to say something, before Harry is marching down out the doors to the terrace. The lights weren’t on, but the glare from the cityscape below illuminated everything enough for Harry to see. He clicked accept call and put the phone up to his ear. 

“Hello,” Harry says nervously, thinking that this probably wasn’t his best move.

His greeting is met with a shaky silence. 

“Hello?” Harry repeats after waiting a moment. When there is still no answer, he pulls the phone away from his face to make sure the call was still on the line. It was which only furthered his confusion. “Is anyone there? Hello?” Harry hears a sharp inhalation of breath from the other end followed by a deep exhale before the line falls dead. He peels the phone from his face in confusion, sure that he just answered some sort of fan who found his number. He sighs out a deep breath, preparing for the probability that he just answered a fan and he would need a new phone number in the next hour. He shakes his head clear of the thought and moseys back inside slowly. 

Tristan is still sitting in the same spot, still typing on her phone, but her face is puckered in a way Harry hasn’t seen before. She picks at her lip with one hand in between fits of violent taps on her phone screen. Harry lets the door slam behind him to indicate his presence which causes Tristan to jump forcefully.

“Shit, H. Warn someone,” she insists dramatically, her hand falling on her chest as if it could slow down a speeding heart. 

“Sorry,” Harry chuckles. 

“Who was that?” 

“What?” Harry replies confused.

“On the phone?” Tristan asks back with a silent insinuation of concern for Harry’s short term memory.

“Oh, um, honestly it was no one,” Harry says, feeling like an idiot.

“Right, very secretive. New guy on the cusp? Are you cheating on me?” she pokes at him. Harry laughs without much humor coloring it.

“Cheating, right. No, I’m definitely not doing that,” Harry slides out cheekily. Tristan rolls her eyes playfully in return. “It really was no one, though. On the phone. They just breathed and then hung up. Probably a fan, so if my phone starts acting up, you’ll know what’s on about it.” 

“Why did you answer if you thought it was a fan?” Tristan asks puzzled. Harry shrugs his shoulders.

“They’ve called once a week ever since we went to dinner the first time. Figured that they were dedicated enough to deserve an answer,” Harry offers up his explanation which truthfully doesn’t even make sense to himself. In his defense, he did see Louis today, so he wasn’t exactly functioning at maximum capacity. 

“But they didn’t say anything?” she asks back, still obviously concerned.

“No.”

“Weird,” she falters out slowly before averting her gaze back to her phone.

“Were you absolutely miserable in my absence?” Harry smiles out. Tristan glances up at him with a scrunched up face in mock disgust. 

“If that makes you feel better about yourself, rockstar, then sure. Miserable,” she rolls her eyes before again planting them back on her phone. Her face falls as soon as she sees the message that lights up her screen. Harry waits for her to continue speaking. He doesn’t have to wait for long. “Stella’s still pissed at me. Thanks for that by the way.”

“I am really sorry about that. I just assumed you had told her,” Harry grimaces, ready to take on full responsibility.

“It’s mainly my fault because I should’ve told her, but we were already fighting and she hates- and I mean _hates_ \- when I have to do stuff for long periods of time with a beard, so I didn’t really feel like it. But now she’s definitely not coming home, so that… really fucking sucks honestly.”

“Wait, does she live here too?” Harry inquires. Tristan looks at him as if he has missed something very obvious.

“Why do you think she was here this morning?” she barks out a short laugh.

“I mean I guess I should’ve assumed. I just... you didn’t mention it on the house tour,” he defends himself.

“Well, I didn’t know you knew about us on the house tour, so I wasn’t going to point out Stella’s side of the closet now was I?” Tristan sasses him. Harry can’t help but think of the double meaning in her words.

“Right, sorry.”

“It’s fine, I’ll just sleep here alone. It’s not a big deal,” she states simply while her crossed arms and fallen face suggest otherwise. 

“I mean, I could stay on the couch. If you didn’t want to be alone,” Harry offers kindly. Tristan stares at him, eyebrows raised.

“Are you hitting on me, H? Do you have a lesbian kink or something? I’m well aware Kendall Jenner is dating Bella Hadid right now,” she ribs at him with a playful tug of a smile on her lips. Harry laughs aloud, the unexpectedness of the comment causing him to send off one of his least favorite and most embarrassing laughs he has in his arsenal. Tristan laughs alongside him at the ridiculous sound. They wind down after a few moments of unadulterated laughter and giggle fits.

“To answer your questions, no I was not ‘hitting on you’, and no, I do not have a ‘lesbian kink’,” Harry laughs out lightly before turning much more serious. “I just know I hate being alone- especially after a fight- so I just thought I would offer.” 

Tristan eyes him with empathy flowing freely. Harry is trying his best not to accidentally cross any invisible boundaries that Tristan has set up between them, but it was hard to know exactly what crossed the line. He knows that she wants to know, to understand, what Harry has been through. Harry very much wanted the same thing from her. The problem was that neither of them were eager to share. It’s not exactly something you want to talk about, or think about, if you’re given the option not to. The things they force you into, the fights those things cause, it’s an unspoken sorrow that too many people know all too well. 

Tristan nods silently before gently mumbling out a simple, “Yeah, I guess that’s fine. We have a guest bedroom over there that you can sleep in. The managers will love it if we can get you photographed outside in the morning, so it’s kind of a win win.” A genuine smile lights Harry’s face up. “One thing though: we’re getting plastered if you stay here,” Tristan continues much to Harry’s amusement. 

“In that case,” Harry trails off as he finishes off the remaining third of his wine, “I s’pose it’s time for another one of these.” Tristan gapes at him humorously before taking Harry’s lead and consuming her glass of wine without a second thought. She pulls the glass away from her mouth with a puckered face and wine-reddened lips.

“Let’s do this,” she challenges, nodding her head and heading for the bar. 

After about three hours with two tequila shots, two rum and cokes, and one vodka soda each, Tristan and Harry find themselves pleasantly drunk. The room a little hazy and their eyelids a little droopy. The giggles flowed through them much easier. It was the perfect state to be in after the day they both had. 

“Harold,” Tristan buzzes, her letters slurring together as if speaking in italics. 

“Tristan,” Harry bounces back with an almost equal amount of letter blending as Tristan.

“Have you ever,” she pauses to hiccup, “watched a compilation of you and Louis on youtube?” She asks, rolling in laughter, her hand tumbling onto Harry’s shoulder. Harry laughs freely back with her.

“Of course I fucking have, are you joking? The Larrie Youtubers are mad with talent, mind you,” he says with a defensive finger pointing at her. 

“Let’s watch one. Right now. It’ll be so fun,” Tristan swirls out as she bounces to her knees, using Harry’s shoulder as a booster.

“You know what? We should do that. I know the perfect one,” he says as he struggles to get off the couch without knocking Tristan to the floor. The room spins as soon as he reaches his full height causing him to stumble without even trying to walk. He searches with squinted eyes for the remote, his one-track mind on a mission. He locates it after far too long of a search, and goes to youtube, typing in ‘Freddie Is My Queen’ in the search bar once he gets there. He chooses his favorite video of the two of them, and sits back down; his eyes never leaving the television. 

“Oh my god, this is so fucking cute!” Tristan giggles out halfway through, turning to face him. Her demeanor falters once she sees his face, “Oh no, Harry. I’m so sorry, this was such a bad idea. We shouldn’t have done this.”

Harry’s alcohol numbed face can’t quite feel the tears as they fall down in spurts, but he can feel the painful memories that are causing them. He can feel the loss he felt almost five months ago when Louis left him in the hotel in New York. Walked away from him forever saying that whatever they had had was done because they were broken. Too broken. And he had run out of energy trying to pretend that everything wasn’t that way. 

He had been right. They were both broken. Tucked away from the world, hiding out in secret spots after the night had fallen. Never holding hands or rouffling each other's hair. It wore them down like the lead of roughly used pencils. They were broken. They had both broken each other’s hearts so many times by the end that there just wasn’t a way to return. How could they? He watches the video of the love they had in the beginning and wonders how a world could be so cruel that they wouldn’t want a love like that to be a success story. 

“I’m gonna take a wee,” Harry announces drunkenly, standing abruptly causing his head to spin. He flees the room stumbling before Tristan has a chance to say anything. He slams the door behind him once he reaches the toilets and locks it for good measure. 

He rips his phone from his pocket, tears still streaming down his face, and dials the number, already knowing how terrible of an idea it is.


End file.
